


I want to say I do

by SparrowPixie



Category: The Daevabad Trilogy - S. A. Chakraborty
Genre: AU, City is Brass, Dara is about to Princess Diaries this shit, F/M, these lovebirds
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-22
Updated: 2021-01-22
Packaged: 2021-03-07 20:14:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 15
Words: 46,649
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26993506
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SparrowPixie/pseuds/SparrowPixie
Summary: Set in City of Brass, Dara accepts Nahri’s proposal
Relationships: Darayavahoush e-Afshin/Nahri e-Nahid
Comments: 17
Kudos: 15





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Yeah another COB AU, sue me

“Then what’s the problem? You’re unmarried, I’m unmarried. We’re both Daeva...”

She made it sound so simple and the words cut Dara like a knife. It was very clear he’d thought about this more than her now. At least from a practical standpoint. He had to put an end to this silly notion that they could somehow be together. A Nahid and her Afshin. A goddess and a monster. A living soul and a dead man.

“I’m not alive,” he said, voice sharper than he intended. He dropped her delicate hand and exhaled. He summoned the strength to rise to his feet even though he felt more like sinking further into the ground. “Nahri, I don’t know who freed my soul from slavery. I don’t know how. But I know that I died: I drowned just like you saw. By now, my body is likely nothing but ash on the bottom of some ancient well.”

Dara could already see the denial flaring in her eyes. She raised her chin a fraction. Nahri had no idea that it was moments like this that made it all the more clear she was born to lead their people. That she was important. She was worth more than him.

“I don’t care,” she said. “It doesn’t matter to me.”

Dara shook his head. “It matters to me.” He swallowed hard, meeting her eyes. He could feel his grasp slipping. His resolve to do the ‘right thing’ crumbling before him. “Nahri, you know what people are saying here. They think you’re a Pureblood, the daughter of one of the few greatest healers in history.”

“So?”

His stomach lurched. Dara felt his brows draw together, an apology on his lips before he even spoke the words. “So you’ll need children. You deserve children. A whole brood of little Nahids as likely to pick your pockets as heal an injury. And I...” Dara heard his voice break. He prayed for the strength to keep himself together. His fingers ached, struggling to keep a grip on himself. “Nahri... I don’t bleed. I don’t breathe... I can’t imagine that I could ever give you children. It would be reckless and selfish of me to even try. The survival of your family is too important.”

The hurt in her eyes felt like a dagger to his heart. He could feel his foot holds loosening, the support beneath him starting to waver. Dara was going to lose her. Not just to marriage. He was about to lose her for good.

And what for?

Nobility? Pride? Duty? When had any of those things served him well?

Nobility had been the Nahid’s justification for turning him into a monster.

Pride had been the cause behind his continued mistakes.

Duty meant nothing when you weren’t sure what you stood for. It wasn’t good for anything but doubting himself and the choices he  _ wanted  _ to make.

Perhaps… just this once… he could disregard everything he was  _ supposed _ to be. Everything he was  _ supposed _ to  _ do _ .

Perhaps this time, he could finally listen to that tugging in his heart. The aching in his stomach. The pain in his chest that told him he was wrong.  _ This  _ was wrong. Perhaps just this once he should listen to himself. 

He wasn’t cursed. He wasn’t hopeless. He could prove that if he listened to what his gut told him. If he followed his instincts and they led him in the right direction… then maybe he wasn’t a monster after all.

Maybe all he needed to be “good” was to choose for himself. Honor, nobility and duty be damned.

The notion sent Dara falling. It felt as though his eyes had been opened. He wasn’t a slave any longer. He had no master, he had no army to lead.  _ He _ could choose. 

Dara returned to the bench, leaning his elbows on his knees and took a deep, steadying breath, closing his eyes. He heard the soft rustle of fabric as Nahri sat beside him again.

Could she tell? Could she see him breaking? The mask he wore failing?

“The survival of your family is too important,” he repeated, voice barely above a whisper. Then Dara rubbed his jaw and sat up, turning his eyes back to his Banu Nahida. 

She was staring at him hopefully. Hopeful and also desperate. On the brink of near emotional agony.

“I am your Afshin, Nahri,” he said, taking her hand again. “And if my Banu Nahida needs me, I will do as she asks.”

Dara could see she was waiting with bated breath. There was more she needed to hear from him. That was fine. There was more he needed to say.

“I know you are not someone who wishes to be a wife. You wish for your independence. The Qahtanis will not allow you the luxury of choice. I know a dangerous leader when I see one and Ghassan… he is a coward but he is also a fiend. It is only a matter of time until he shows it,” Dara snarled. His expression softened, thumb brushing over her knuckles. His voice threatened to break again so he released the words in a hurry. “My Banu Nahida requires a husband that will not act as a handsome set of shackles, but as her advocate. I would be glad to accept that honor.”

Her eyes were stunned. She blinked at him. He could only imagine her surprise. The Dara she had become accustomed to, the one she cared for, had cast aside his misguided sense of duty. Dara felt her grip tighten on his hand. He heard her clear her throat. He heard the beat of whatever passed for a heart in his chest speed.

“I need to know that you are saying yes because you want this. Not because you’re my Afshin,” she said, voice even.

Dara offered her a wry smile. “Can it not be both, little thief? You are the first Nahid who has cared for me. I am happy to serve you.”

It was Nahri’s turn to shake her head. “If you’re my husband you will not only serve me. We will serve each other.”

A shiver went down his spine. Hearing the words said aloud, that they would serve one another. He, Darayavahoush e-Afshin, as a “husband.” It was… comforting. 

“It will take… getting used to, but, agreed,” he nodded. “So if this is to be give and take, I have conditions of my own.”

She gave a single nod and Dara had to fight off a chuckle at the determination on her face. “Name your price.”

“We will wait until your quarter century to be married. The engagement will be announced at your discretion, but this is not a race. We will wait. Just as you would have with the emir.”

“Agreed,” she replied resolutely.

Dara wasn’t finished. “I do not wish to live in the palace. I do not trust anyone who resides there. I will maintain a residence separately until we are wed. At which point we will live elsewhere.”

Nahri grinned. “I’ll see the funds are transferred from my existing dowry post haste.”

“On the topic of finances,” Dara began. “The Daeva Brigade is a disgrace. I would like a formal meeting with the Qaid requesting employment. I will have need for your influence.”

“It will be done.”

“My last condition, Banu Nahida, is that you allow me to court you.”

His little thief snorted at this, but he saw her cheeks flush. The effect sent a ripple of satisfaction through him. “Yes. I’ll allow it, Dara.”

Dara’s gaze turned thoughtful. “I imagine it will be… an agreeable experience for the both of us. I’ve never courted anyone before.”

“Well, I’ve never been courted before so I’ll have nothing to compare it to.”

Dara’s smile turned wary as reality resurfaced. This decision would be an uphill battle. More so than his original proposition that she marry Jamshid. 

“You realize that we will have to announce this to the public… to Ghassan.”

“I do.”

“He will not be happy.”

“I don’t expect him to be.”

“He may even be angry.”

“I’m not scared of him,” Nahri shrugged.

Dara smiled, chuckling. “Have you any need for an Afshin being so fearless, Banu Nahida?”

Her eyes glinted wickedly, she scooted closer to him. “I have need of a husband.”

Dara lifted her fingers to his lips. “And so you shall have one.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dara and Nahri break the news of their engagement

Dara stood outside the throne room doors, straining his ears for any word of Ghassan and Nahri’s conversation. Why she insisted on breaking the news of their engagement alone was beyond him. He was an equal participant. He had experience in Royal negotiations - not that he had ever negotiated with the Nahids, but he’d witnessed others do as much. He was her Afshin. He was her fiancé. He should be at her side. 

Dara’s emerald eyes flickered to the double doors, then between the two Royal Guards standing at attention on either side. Would they attempt to stop him if he tried to enter? This was Ghassan’s palace and these were his men. Dara was an intruder. An ancestral enemy of their king. He wouldn’t be allowed entrance without permission. Yes, that was obvious by the glare one of the guards flashed Dara when he thought he wasn’t looking. The imbecile. He had no idea that if Dara wanted he could make that ridiculous zulfiqar on his hip impale his throat. 

Yes, if Dara heard Ghassan’s thundering voice within those chamber doors, invitation or not he would sweep past the Royal Guards and charge in. They could not stop him. They stood no chance-

The doors opened and the Grand Wazir stepped half out.

“Afshin, the king requests your audience,” Kaveh said formally.

Dara arched a brow, eyes sweeping the two guards once more before he stepped past Kaveh and inside. 

Taking in the grand room Dara felt rage prickle the back of his neck. This throne belonged to Nahri. Not this tyrannical manipulator wearing the guise of a magnanimous leader. Perhaps Ghassan could fool his subjects, but Dara could see through him. He knew a bully when he saw one, and while that was putting it mildly, there was no better word to describe the Qahtanis. Creator, even to describe the Nahids.

Nahri stood steps away from Ghassan who sat before her on his throne watching Dara approach with the ghost of a smile. At his side was the emir whose eyes seemingly danced with amusement, behind him Jamshid appeared to be rather restless, his mustache twitching as his lips pressed into a flat line. There appeared to be much more at play here than Dara had anticipated. 

Nahri looked over her shoulder at Dara, offering a wry smile. He tried to maintain his composure, to mask his suspicion. Dara clasped his hands behind his back, exchanging a glance with Nahri then looking to Ghassan. His vacant eyes stirred a pit in Dara’s stomach.

“Darayavahoush, I suppose congratulations are in order,” Ghassan said mildly. “This will be a triumph for the Daeva people, I’m certain.”

“I suppose…” Dara said skeptically.

The emir snorted but was quickly silenced with a look from his father.

Ghassan turned back to Dara. “Banu Nahri has made a series of… demands.”

Out of the corner of his eye Dara saw Nahri square her shoulders, setting her jaw. He could not get a read on the king but Nahri was decidedly defensive. Dara bristled in response.

“I have demands of my own and I thought it best you heard them from me and not from your  _ betrothed _ ,” said the king coolly. 

Dara was finally able to decipher Ghassan’s reaction. He wasn’t merely angered by the engagement, he was defeated. This conversation wasn’t a simple negotiation for Dara and Nahri’s requests, it was a quiet battle Ghassan wanted to coax some sort of victory from.

Fine. Dara could be reasonable. For Nahri’s sake.

“I’m listening,” Dara said with a raised brow.

Ghassan straightened up in his chair and looked to the scribe with a nod. The man poised his quill.

“In regards to your request for lodging in the Daeva quarter, I would request that you reconsider and stay in one of the apartments of the palace instead.”

_ Keep your enemies close… _

“However, as you’ve also asked for a position in the Daeva Brigade, I  _ do _ see the logic in having you stationed closer to the Daeva Boy’s Quarters,” Ghassan relented with the wave of his hand. “We can secure a residence for you in the Daeva Quarter, but Jamshid Pramukh has also expressed interest in helping ‘improve’ the training of the Daeva Brigade. On the days that he is assuming such duties you will serve as bodyguard to the emir. At which point you will make use of your palace apartments.”

Muntadhir snorted back another laugh. Ghassan didn’t bother admonishing this time, only pausing to compose himself. When Dara said nothing Nahri elbowed him.

“This sounds fair,” Dara said through gritted teeth.

His visible reluctance to serve as guard to a Qahtani seemed to satisfy Ghassan. Fine. He could have this small victory over Dara. Muntadhir had been pleasant enough company hunting the ifrit. Perhaps one evening Dara would find him drunk and watch the emir topple off the balcony of his luxurious quarters when his back was turned.

Still, Dara was surprised. Two of his three conditions were granted with the only compromise being that he had to reside in the palace occasionally and be a nursemaid to the drunken poet of a prince.

“As far as your engagement goes, I will endorse you publicly after you make an announcement.”

_ Of course you will. _

What choice did the king have? He could hardly declare war upon their marriage without stirring an uprising from the Daeva or sparking suspicion among the people. Half of Daevabad already felt as though they were under occupation, and the small comfort of the last Nahid and the Hero Afshin wedding could not be spat upon. At least not in front of an audience. 

“I want the announcement made in the Grand Temple. I would like the wedding to be held here in the palace.”

Dara couldn’t stop himself at King’s gratuitous tone. “That’s generous of you,” he drawled.

Nahri elbowed him in the ribs again and flashed Ghassan an embarrassed smile. The emir smirked, eyes alight with mirth.

The only reason Ghassan wanted this wedding in the palace was to appear in support of their union. Confident of his hold over the Daeva people despite their two most powerful tribe members tying themselves to one another. He could not afford to appear threatened.

“We would be glad for it,” Nahri said with a bow of her head. 

Ghassan gave Nahri a hollow smile then glanced at the surrounding guards and scribe. “Leave us.”

Wordlessly the guards headed towards the exit, on their tails Jamshid and Kaveh.

“Wazir, Captain, please remain,” Ghassan commanded.

The two Pramukhs did not even look at one another. They returned to their stations, standing resolutely. As soon as the throne room doors shut behind the retreating guards, Ghassan’s expression darkened. Dara braced himself for the impending wrath of the king who leaned forward on his chair.

“I’m certain neither of you had any idea that I had plans for the emir to wed the Banu Nahida. I’m certain neither of you plan to use the union of your marriage to stage an uprising. I’m certain neither of you wishes for any harm to befall the other,” the King said coolly.

Dara felt his blood begin to boil, barbed insults itched his throat. He knew that Ghassan’s threats were impending but he hadn’t prepared himself for the reaction they prompted from him.

“Do you know why I’m certain of these things?”

“Because you’re exceptionally observant.”

“Afshin,” Nahri hissed.

Perhaps she was more skilled than he was at Royal negotiations after all. Dara seemed to have difficulty biting his tongue. Muntadhir seemed to delight in this.

“I am certain of these things because I know you both are smart. I know you both realize the power of my position. The power I have over the both of you.”

Pain surged through Dara’s limbs, his throat burned, there was a drumming in his head that made his ears ring and his vision blur. Dara sank to his knees, gasping for breath he didn’t technically need. In the distance he could hear Nahri yelling though he could not make out the words. Through the agony Dara felt a single emotion, and it wasn’t rage.

It was fear.

Fear making whatever passed for a heart in his chest sink. Beads of ash streamed down his forehead and he wasn’t sure how much time had passed between Nahri’s muffled screams of protest and the low rumble of the King’s voice. Dara wasn’t certain if Ghassan could murder him with Suleiman’s Seal, but he was certain that if something happened to him, Nahri was on her own with these wolves. There was no saving her from the Qahtani’s wrath if he was dead. He would have to play Ghassan’s game to ensure Nahri’s safety. It may be a blow to his pride but at least his Banu Nahida would be safe. 

And who knew, maybe Ghassan would die and the reluctant emir would reject the title leaving Nahri to reclaim her rightful place on the throne. 

As abruptly as it had begun, the pain stopped. Nahri was by his side, a hand under his arm as she murmured something in his ear, attempting to raise him to his feet. He blinked and shook his head, disoriented. The room slowly came back into focus. The emir wore a vacant expression but Dara could tell by the way he gripped the arms of his chair that he was alarmed. Jamshid’s eyebrows were drawn together in concern and Kaveh had averted his gaze to one of the pock marked columns.

Ghassan still leaned forward in his chair, staring at Nahri and Dara with challenging eyes. Dara clenched his jaw fighting off a snarl. He wiped his forehead of the ash with the back of his hand.

_ The coward. _

“Banu Nahida, I expect you to maintain your current schedule in the infirmary despite wedding preparations. That shouldn’t be an issue.”

“No,” Nahri said, her voice low with concealed fury.

“And Afshin, to express my appreciation for your… cooperation, I am lifting the ban on the Daeva Brigade training with bows.”

From his spot behind the emir Jamshid gasped softly. Dara, still struggling to gather himself, nodded gruffly. Another charade to let the Daeva know that Ghassan did not feel threatened by them.

“I’m sure you can understand that we can’t simply allow you to immediately take a position as a Captain or General in the Daeva Brigade. You’ll show your respect for their ranks by joining as a recruit and working your way up of course.”

Dara nearly laughed deliriously at the request. Darayavahoush e-Afshin joining the Daeva Brigade as a  _ recruit _ ? The man who had laid siege to cities? The man who commanded weapons with his mind? A recruit? 

_ Have it your way. _

In the end, Dara’s emotions got the best of him - as usual - and he chuckled. “Ya, alright. I’ll be honored to report to Captain Pramukh.”

Jamshid’s lip twitched at the corner but Ghassan wasn’t as amused. Unfortunately for the King, Dara wasn’t so easily provoked by small jabs to his ego. The only way to wound the Afshin was through threats to those he cared for or disparagement of his people. No respectable General allowed childish insults to their ego to get a rise out of them. What a weakness that would be. Of course he didn’t expect Ghassan to understand what made a good General.

“Is that all, your highness?” Nahri asked coolly.

Ghassan flinched but sat a little taller. “Be dismissed,” he said. “You’ll announce the engagement tomorrow.”

“Of course,” Dara said, offering a curt bow.

Dara and Nahri turned heading towards the throne room doors when Ghassan stopped them again.

“Banu Nahida,” he called. “I recommend getting your Afshin - or rather,  _ fiance’,  _ fitted for clothes that are more becoming of his role. The betrothed of the Banu 

Nahida shouldn’t be seen at her side in such a state.”

Dara arched a brow at the King but Nahri hastily pressed her hands together, bowing in agreement before he could say anything.

“What’s wrong with my clothes?” Dara muttered to her.

She quickly grabbed his arm, forcing him to face the throne room doors. “Nothing, Afshin. Come along,” she grumbled.

With a final glance over his shoulder, Dara found himself more amused than angered now. He gave the King a small smile before following Nahri out into the palace hall.

  
  


In the privacy of his home in the Daeva Quarter, Dara had been quickly fitted for garments more “becoming” of the “Banu Nahida’s husband-to-be.” 

And he hated it.

The woman and her associate handled him as though he were made of sand glass. Gently lifting his arm to gather measurements this way and that. Muttering to one another about which colors suited his eyes and his hair and his skin as though he wasn’t in the room.

_ “I can’t imagine anything would look bad on him,”  _ the associate had remarked with a grin, his fingers stroking his beard.

Now the Daeva woman had pinned both a pine green strip of fabric and a midnight blue one to Dara’s chest with her palms. Her dark eyes, though aged, were sharp, and seemed to be making quiet calculations. 

She relented with a sigh and looked over her shoulder at the associate. “They both suit him. Give me the scarlet one next, will you?”

The man jotted something in the notebook before accepting the fabric from the woman and exchanging them for a deep red shade that Dara didn’t care for. Once again the woman held the fabric to his chest, lips pursed in contemplation.

“I don’t suppose you have a favorite,” she asked softly.

Dara fought off a groan. “I suppose I’ll need more than one so why not just use every color?”

Her cheeks flushed. “Yes, that is true. But I can only make one for tomorrow’s announcement in the Grand Temple,” she muttered. Her eyebrows drew together and she offered a sheepish smile. “I don’t suppose you could tell us what this announcement is regarding. It may provide us with… inspiration for your clothing.”

Dara let out a disgruntled noise. “You are correct. I cannot.”

The woman bowed her head but the associate was bolder, joining her and offering a white silk fabric. She accepted eagerly and held it to Dara’s neck.

“Not even a hint as to the big news, Afshin?”

“It is not only my news to give,” Dara said coolly.

He instantly regretted it as the man’s lips turned up in a satisfied smile. He stalked away and Dara could see the wheels turning in his head as he tried to guess the news. He couldn’t help but roll his eyes. Did they have nothing better to do than obsess over palace gossip?

“Hamed, I like the cream. Let’s do that sky blue with cream and gold embroidery,” she called over her shoulder. Her eyes locked with Dara’s, a conspiratorial smile on her lips. “To match the Banu Nahida.”

This time Dara couldn’t contain his exhausted exhale. He had never missed people’s fear of him before.

  
  


Nahri read the prepared statement she’d written with a Royal Advisor. Dara had stood at her side silently, carefully examining the expressions of the Daeva who had crammed themselves into the Grand Temple. He briefly took a moment to adjust the collar of the fitted jacket the seamstress had provided him with this morning before clasping his hands behind his back once more.

So far Nahri’s statement had been one promoting peace between the bickering tribes and condemning any civil unrest over shafit. A remark that had earned a few grumbles from older members of the crowd. Some even looked to Dara urging him to speak up with their eyes.

They did not know him. They knew his shrine. So when he arched a brow at their challenging gazes they bristled in response.

“In five years time will come my quarter century at which point I will take a husband…”

Dara remembered this part from Nahri’s rehearsal in the palanquin on the way over. His eyes surveyed the crowd again preparing for any uproar the next sentence may evoke.

“I gladly announce my engagement to Daeva Brigade member Darayavahoush e-Afshin.”

Nahri did not pause for a reaction and continued on with her statement. Dara was no longer listening, his gaze narrowed, intently studying the people and to his great surprise they mostly seemed… gratified.

Some even pleasantly scandalized.

There were a small number shaking their heads or growling to their companions, but largely they sounded pleased. Excited even.

Dara quickly smoothed his bewildered expression over, standing a little taller. He glanced over at Kartir who stood to the side with a warm smile. The man’s encouragement and enthusiasm for Dara’s damnation of the Nahid line seemed not to vex him. Or anyone else for that matter.

Perhaps that would change over time when he and Nahri were unsuccessful in producing an heir.

Dara was removed from his thoughts by a polite applause followed by, what he considered to be, disruptive cheering. He looked at Nahri who glanced over at him from her spot at the podium and winked. He did his best not to smile back. She had a way of coaxing smiles from him, his little thief.

Nahri stepped away from her spot and beckoned Captain Pramukh and her personal guard to show them out to the palanquin.

He wished he could take her hand as they walked through the crowd. He did not trust the people to mind their manners.

Not to mention he found himself… unsettled.

No, not unsettled. Nervous.

Jamshid led them through the throng of Daeva crowding the Temple, three guards on either side of them and two just behind. Dara tried not to snort at this accompaniment. They hardly needed so much protection. Did none of these people recall when he’d called two stone Shedu to his aid? Surely they knew better than to challenge him.

When the palanquin came into view it was all Dara could do not to steer Nahri inside by her shoulders. He wanted to be free of the clamoring, excitable crowd. 

Finally he found himself inside the floral box, seated across from Nahri. They were hoisted off the ground and Dara suddenly found himself feeling rather idle. It was unpleasant.

First the palanquin would deposit Dara at his home in the Daeva quarter, then proceed with Nahri to the palace.

Perhaps he would invite Jamshid over to his home to practice archery. Nahri would be busy with her infirmary after all. 

He did have a standing invitation to dine with the royal family for supper that he had declined promptly. Eventually he would have to join them, he knew that, but today had already been taxing enough on his nerves without having to worry about what foods required cutlery and which didn’t. Nahri assured him he did not need to vex himself. She usually took meals in her quarters now anyway.

But she also agreed. Eventually they would have to have supper with the Royal family as an engaged couple.

Dara massaged the bridge of his nose exhaustedly.

“You’re too pretty in that outfit to be so concerned, Darayavahoush,” Nahri smirked.

Dara felt the collar of his shirt tickle his neck irritatingly. He jerked at it with a discontented growl. 

“What troubles you,  _ my betrothed _ ?” his little thief asked with a glimmer in her eyes that made his heart jump.

He cleared his throat, doing his best to appear nonchalant. “Their reaction took me off guard. That is all.”

“What’d you expect?”

He didn’t miss a beat. “Outrage.”

Nahri barked a laugh, tossing her head back with a grin. 

Dara set his jaw. “In my day an Afshin would be condemned for any relations with a Nahid.”

“That was  _ fourteen centuries  _ ago, Dara. Now forbidden romance is enticing.”

“Enticing,” Dara said the word as though it tasted foreign on his tongue. 

“Is my Afshin disappointed he didn’t have a mob to break up?”

“Hardly,” Dara snorted. She had a point. Better excitement than anger he supposed. “I just have to get accustomed to being in the public eye.”

“Ya, says the man with  _ a shrine. _ ”

Dara folded his arms and frowned remembering that extravagant shrine they’d just walked past.

“Don’t pretend you don’t like the attention, Darayavahoush,” she purred. “I saw you with those children that night. You love admirers.”

He decidedly did not. Dara wanted to forget the Scourge, not revel in legends of him. The children only cared about the Afshin and his arrows and his stomping out sandflies. The adults had darker motives, two even regaling in his “firm hand of justice over the shafit.”

_ The shafit. _

The burden of the murders of those innocents and the deaths of his family flashed before his eyes briefly and he flinched.

“I do  _ not  _ love admirers,” he said, righting himself in his seat. “You saw me with children, not admirers. Children I love.”

Nahri snickered, her expression one of absolute delight. “Darayavahoush e-Afshin loves kids, eh?”

Dara’s cheeks got hot and he waved an errant hand. “Yes, in that they are more interested in making a show of their tiny muscles that commending me on my… past actions.”

Nahri winced at the comment. Before they had spoken with Ghassan, Dara had explained the grisly details of his past. He wanted her to hear the story from him and not some Qahtani more interested in entrapment than the truth.

It had been a long two hours of silence before they were told Ghassan was ready for them. Before they made their way to the throne room, Nahri had told him that there would be “no more secrets” and that she looked forward to him “continuing to prove he was no longer that man.” Some distrust still lingered between them even now and Dara found himself both grateful and reluctant to have confessed. Especially when she looked at him like she did now. 

The words bubbled from his lips before he could stop himself. “You’ve only just announced our engagement. It is not too late to call-“

Nahri silenced him with a look. “I suppose it is a good thing you have five years to show me why I’m right to have chosen you.”

She was more than he deserved. Even now she offered him a grimace over a glare. He gave her a grateful nod.

_ Five years is a good thing indeed _

Dara looked over at his fiancée who was examining her nails thoughtfully. Perhaps trying to distract herself from the thoughts of the monster she was to marry. Dara resolved that he would use these five years to prove he was worthy of her hand. Five years to prove he was not the Scourge. Five years to earn the privilege of being her husband

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you made it to the end, thanks for reading :) More chapters to come


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dara gets to know the boys of the Daeva Brigade and confront his past

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Get ready for some softness

The first day of Dara’s training in the Daeva Brigade he woke up early. Not that he really had a choice.

A wagon transported the Daeva Boys from their home in the Daeva Quarter to the Citadel at the crack of dawn.

Truthfully, Dara didn’t mind rising with the sun. He had been looking forward to his start of training for the past week with cautious optimism - any excuse really to wear something that wasn’t silk or itched his neck. It was of no concern to him that he had to begin at the same level as new entries either. He would quickly rise through the ranks. Not to mention, the less he resented the position he was in, the more disappointed Ghassan would be.

And besides, there were worse things than training with a horde of Daeva boys who hung on every word of your folklore. Likely too young to consider the horrors of his past or revere him for mass genocide.

Dara exited his home, a modest two story affair with a spacious garden, and started down the sunlit road towards the Daeva Boy’s Home. Outside sat the wagon, always piled full of young men in training uniforms. Dara suddenly felt underdressed glancing down at his jacket and loose pants. It didn't matter. There was not a  _ boy’s  _ uniform in this entire city that would fit him regardless.

Dara clambered into the back of the wagon taking one of the only remaining seats lining the edges. There had to be about twenty-five boys here. The youngest appearing to be barely fifteen and the eldest no more than twenty, Dara guessed.

Their quiet conversation and soft laughter faded as they looked at Dara. Some quickly averted their gaze while others couldn’t stop staring. It was clear his presence was… intimidating to say the least. He tried to think of something to say to break the ice but honestly, he doubted any remark from him this early would only serve to feed their nerves. Instead he cleared his throat and sat back on the bench. 

The wagon driver glanced over his shoulder with a raised brow, likely surprised at the sudden silence. He spotted Dara accompanying the boys and gave a fast, but polite nod of his head.

“Uh… we’re waiting on one more, yes?” stammered the driver.

There was a pause wherein no one wanted to speak up. Dara turned his gaze to his feet hoping his feigned disinterest would give someone the courage to speak up before a poor Daeva recruit was left behind.

“Adib, sir. Looks like he’s heading over now,” one of the boys piped up.

After a few seconds Dara heard quick footsteps approaching.

“Sorry I’m… late.”

The wagon jostled slightly and when Dara looked up, a small boy with round eyes was watching him. He seemed to glance around looking for any other seat available, but the last one left was next to Dara.

Dara arched a brow and gestured to the space beside him. Almost as though he’d been shocked, the boy startled and took a seat, pulling the back hatch of the wagon up and securing it.

The wagon pulled forward with a bumpy start and headed down the road in complete silence.

Dara chewed the inside of his cheek trying to pretend he couldn’t feel the dazed eyes of the young men staring at him. If someone didn’t say something soon then he would.

No? Fine.

“Adib, is it?” Dara said, turning to his small companion. 

“Yes,” the boy said too quickly. The boys surrounding them cringed, one across from Adib giving his shin a kick. Adib shook his head, face turning red. “Yes,  _ Afshin _ , I mean.”

Dara’s brows lifted and his eyes shifted across the group of boys curiously. Were they afraid or intimidated? The latter made Dara feel less like a monster.

He extended a hand to the boy. “Dara.”

Adib looked at Dara’s hand, mystified, and gave it a firm shake. A few boys murmured amongst each other, particularly the older ones.

This was going to be a long trip to the Citadel if the boys continued to carry on in such a silent manner. 

“You wouldn’t mind introducing yourselves would you?” Dara asked. 

The group exchanged puzzled glances before a tall boy, likely eighteen, spoke up.

“I’m Emad, Afsh… Dara.”

“Emad. What weapon do you favor, Emad?”

All eyes were now on the gangly boy.

“The khanjar serves me well, sir.”

“Just Dara. We’re all  _ training  _ here,” the Afshin smirked. “That’s a good choice for you. You look like you’ve got a good reach with those longer arms.”

The boy beamed, then looked rather bashful. “Th-thank you. I’m still working on my strength though.”

Dara waved a flippant hand. “That’s fine, but truthfully all you really need is some momentum when you swing. It will work just as well.”

Emad smiled sheepishly. “That is fortunate because I can’t seem to build any muscle.”

The boys laughed goodnaturedly.

“If you are able to build any muscle I should imagine at your height you’d be able to outmatch anyone,” Dara remarked. “If anyone notices Emad begin to grow in width be careful not to anger him, aye?”

The mood lightened significantly as more abashed snickers circled about the group. A stockier looking boy gave Emad a nudge.

“Emad wouldn’t know anger if it slapped him, would he?”

The ride to the Citadel proceeded in much the same fashion as did breakfast in the dining hall. Dara was introduced to each boy. No one was spared a flattering or humorous remark. By the time they arrived at the training field their spirits seemed lighter but that all changed when they were issued throwing knives. There were five targets, five boys per target, lined up in rows behind the throwing line. Each boy at the front fiddled nervously with their knives and it quickly became apparent to Dara that his presence was the cause behind the anxiety.

Dara swallowed and angled himself to look at the rows of empty seats for observers. This must not have helped as one of the Instructors called out, urging the recruits to start practicing.

It was a disappointing sight. The boys had clearly received far less combat training than Dara cared for. He wrestled with himself as to how well he wanted to do with the target practice. In the end he decided that anything less than perfection would seem suspicious. He proceeded to hit the target with flawless precision, next to no pauses between each throw. The action elicited the expected response of silence then quiet murmurs of reverence for the Afshin’s deadly talents. He hoped over time that they would become more comfortable in his presence. More at ease. He had experience getting Jamshid warmed up to him. Now he just had to work the same charisma with the recruits. Continue the lighthearted banter. 

After consulting with Nahri, she suggested that he make use of his “humor” and “charm” with the young men. “Appeal to their admiration” but make it clear that he was “approachable.”

_ “They’re terrified of not being as skilled as a fourteen hundred year old warrior,” Dara had drawled, picking at the food he’d conjured. _

_ Nahri shrugged. “Well, show them that you’re approachable. Appeal to their admiration. I dunno, Afshin. Talk to them.” _

_ “You make it sound so simple. They aren’t young enough to take my presence lightly. They know everything about me.” _

_ “Well, all the more reason to talk to them.” _

So at the end of the day on their second week of training, Dara endeavored to “talk to them.” And not in the recruit to recruit manner he’d been attempting. This time he would try speaking to them hero to admirer.

The wagon arrived at the Daeva Boy’s Home at the regular time around dinner. Emad, Adib and the oldest recruit, Hirad had taken to speaking with Dara on the rides back. Usually asking his opinion on why broadswords tended to hurt their backs or what he suggested to prepare for the upcoming archery lessons.

“We will see you tomorrow then, Afshin?” Hirad asked, jumping lightly to the ground from the back of the wagon.

Dara had given up trying to get them to call him his preferred name. 

He took a deep breath and offered the group a wry smile. Now  _ he  _ felt intimidated.

“I was going to ask if any of you would like to join me tonight after dinner. I was thinking of making use of the fire pit in the back garden this evening.”

Silence hung in the air. Every hesitant eye on Dara. Eventually Hirad held up a hand inclining his head ever so slightly towards the Afshin. Dara braced himself for whatever remark the stocky boy planned to make - he had a knack for being comically forthright.

“Are you saying that  _ the  _ Darayavahoush e-Afshin is inviting us - Daeva recruits - over to his home  _ for a party? _ ” he asked, the corner of his lip hitching up wickedly.

Dara paused, his gaze falling over the group of young men waiting with bated breath for his answer.

“I don’t know that I am well versed in having ‘parties,’ but yes, I’m inviting you over,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck. “It’ll just be a fire. I could conjure some dessert. Given your Keeper allows it, that is.”

Hirad chuckled and Adib beamed.

“Yes, Afshin. I will speak with our Keeper,” Emad said eagerly. 

The group departed, exuberant conversations in quiet voices exchanged as they entered the polished marble building that housed them.

Dara headed back to his home and set to making preparations. All of the advice Nahri had given him from the parties she’d snuck her way into in Cairo put to use. 

Desserts that you could eat with your hands. A selection of beverages. Comfortable seating around a warm fire.

_ “Nothing extravagant. They’re boys,”  _ Nahri had grinned.

“Nothing extravagant,” Dara muttered while taking in his arrangements.

As Nahri suggested there was a selection of tea, tamarind juice and wine for the older boys. Saffron cakes, koloocheh and ghotab on a large platter. A substantial fire in the back garden surrounded by stools, cushions and blankets. Now all he had to do was wait patiently for the recruits to arrive. That was easy enough. He was a reasonably patient man.

But what if they didn’t come? What if they were too anxious? What if, what if, what if?

Dara groaned and ran a hand down his face in frustration. What was so daunting about recruits who looked up to him? 

An hour passed and the sun began to set. Dara considered stamping out the fire, cleaning up the mess and seeking out Nahri at the palace for company when a knock came from his front door.

He hastily exited the garden and made his way to the entrance of his home. Rolling his eyes at his ridiculous nerves, Dara pulled open the heavy door to see all twenty five or so recruits standing just outside, lined up and wedged together with eager expressions.

At the front was a boy Dara recognized as sixteen year old Javed who was interested in a Daeva girl named Astrella. “Afshin, does the invitation… still stand?”

Dara cocked a brow. “Yes, nothing has changed in the past two hours.”

_ This will be a long evening… _

The boys followed him inside, all taking in the modest and minimal furnishings Dara had acquired. They followed him into the back garden and quietly marveled at the supply of drinks and desserts. The older of the boys set to making short work of Dara’s wine supplies. He saw Emad redirect one of the younger boys to the Tamarind juice with an admonishing look. Soon, everyone was seated beside the fire. Hirad boldly took a seat next to Dara and after a few quiet moments of imbibing in the date wine, he spoke up, nudging the Afshin with his elbow.

“So, Dara,” Hirad began. Every boy quieted, now watching Hirad and Dara. Dara was pleasantly startled at the young man addressing him so informally. “My father says that on one of your first missions you once held off an entire caravan of Geziri warriors camped out in a tree with nothing but a quiver of arrows and your bow. He said that legend has it you were there for six days hopping from tree to tree, taking out each man from the shadows.”

Dara blinked, swallowing his wine. “I did  _ what _ ?”

“Is it true?” Hirad asked keenly.

Dara wracked his brain. An  _ entire  _ caravan with a  _ single  _ quiver of arrows? For  _ six  _ days?  _ Him?  _ Lithely hopping from tree top to tree top? It sounded like an exaggerated version of the bandit story when he was seventeen. 

_ You know the Daeva have a penchant for exaggeration of your legend… _

Dara grimaced, eyes focused on his cup of wine. “I’m sorry to say it wasn’t an entire caravan of Geziri. It was eight bandits. It wasn’t six days, it was probably about an hour, and I didn’t hop from tree to tree, it was  _ one  _ tree. But it  _ was  _ one of my first assignments. I was seventeen,” he clarified. Dara looked up hesitantly anticipating their disappointed reactions. 

Instead he found them all gaping at him. Seconds later a cacophony of questions began.

_ “You were  _ my  _ age?” _

_ “You were younger than me?” _

_ “It only took an hour?” _

_ “Eight bandits against one of you?” _

_ “Are bandits scary?” _

_ “Were they big?” _

_ “With only one quiver? You must’ve hit each of them  _ dead on _!” _

And that was the tone the rest of the night. Tale after embellished tale was relayed. Dara set the record straight for each and with every honest account came a series of questions. As it turned out, the truth was even more enticing than the folklore and Dara found each one more amusing than the last.

“Wait, what about the tale about your murdering a nest of rukhs and wearing their feathers as a cape?” Adib piped up a few hours later.

“I’ve killed two rukhs and making a cape of their feathers is impractical. Do I look like a seamstress?” Laughter echoed about and Dara took another swig of his wine. “What’s next? Please give me more of your fantasies to ruin.”

Adib chimed in again. “I heard you sent a hundred dirtbloods to their deathbeds with a single look.”

Dara nearly choked. Adib’s expression turned alarmed and the rest of the group fell silent.

Well, it wasn’t true. He’d sent  _ more _ than a hundred “dirtbloods” to their deathbeds and it was with a scourge, not a look.

Another boy broke the silence. “I heard you made shafit scum cower in the shadows.”

“Is it true you ended the incessant breeding of shafit?”

“I heard you eradicated the entire city of them using a scourge to tell the color of their blood,” said Emad darkly.

Dara paled.  _ Why _ ? Them too? Did the prejudice, no, his crimes, no, his  _ monstrous  _ acts fuel such hatred to this day? Were even young boys using The Scourge to justify their judgment? The Afshin was gripping his cup so hard he thought it may break, he stared into the flames of the fire pit exhaustedly. Not a sound was made until Adib spoke up again.

“Afshin, I know that some people… do not respect your bravery but… we know what you did was to protect us from Suleiman’s wrath again-“

Dara spoke with more of an edge than he’d meant. “Do you know how many years have passed since Qi-Zi, Adib?”

He looked to the now surprised boy quizzically. 

“Centuries?”

“Over one thousand and four hundred years,” Dara replied, taking a swig of his wine.

Part of Dara urged him to calm down. To adjust his tone. But there was another part of him, a fiercer part that rivaled any impartial reaction he dared have.

_ You must earn her. You must earn this life. _

“Adib - actually, all of you,” Dara began, letting the liquid courage of his wine invigorate him. “It has been centuries since The Scourge laid waste to shafit. It has been centuries that they’ve existed. Do you see Suleiman anywhere?”

Nobody moved. They were all frozen, eyes on Dara. Good. He had their attention. The Afshin threw back the rest of his wine then stoked the fire aimlessly with a nearby stick.

“Humans belong in their world. We belong in ours. That much is black and white to me,” he muttered, wondering briefly if Nahri would agree. “But not everything is so cut and dry. Nobody is just one thing.”

Another pause and to Dara’s surprise, Adib spoke up again. “What are you saying?” 

“I’m  _ saying _ ,” Dara said, again harsher than he meant - but at this point he was too angry and disappointed to regulate himself - “that shafit aren’t evil and if they were any danger I think we would know by now.”

“My dad says they’re ruining Daevabad. Not that they’re evil.”

Dara laughed drowsily. “Have any of you ever heard the phrase that it’s a poor workman that blames his tools?”

They all shook their heads. Of course not. He’d picked up such phrases from his human masters that he could remember.

“Well, let’s put it this way. Whoever is blaming the shafit - they’re likely the problem.”

“My… baba blames the shafit,” said a boy quietly.

Dara met his gaze somberly. “Did your baba also say that the Scourge did great things?”

The boy nodded.

Dara pursed his lips, as his blood boiled. Apparently people never learned.

“Did he tell you those  _ great things _ resulted in the bloody deaths of children and families, including my own? Including my sister who was no older than yourself?”

Each of the recruits looked taken off guard. Each of them was frozen in their seats. Unmoving. He did notice that there were at least ten of them that wore looks of open relief. As though Dara’s confession had reconciled something for them. The Nahids would’ve called these boys skeptics, traitors even. These boys would not have been responsible for the murders of almost an entire race.

Dara chewed his lip, trying to figure out the correct approach to ending this conversation. He wouldn’t recant his statement no matter how angry or shocked the boys looked. Instead Dara dropped the stick he was stoking the fire with and stroked his jaw thoughtfully.

“Did you know that when I crossed the deserts with the Banu Nahida that I believed her to be shafit?”

At their continued refusal to speak he continued.

“I was certain of it, I still think she may be, despite this rumor of a ‘marid curse’ your king has spread.” Dara shook his head. “The entire journey over I warred with myself about Banu Nahri. My fear of shafit has long faded but please take my word for it when I say that battling internalized indoctrination takes time.”

“Afshin?” said the boy Dara recognized as Aryan. Dara nodded urging him to continue. “If Ghassan is… mistaken,” he said carefully choosing his words. “And it is uncovered the Banu Nahida is shafit… would you still wish to be her husband?”

Dara did not hesitate - only locked eyes with Aryan. “Yes.” 

The silence that followed was longer and Dara doubted there was an end in sight. But a familiar cacophony sounded.

_ “I’ve heard they’re all thieves and can use their half magic to hypnotize you though!” _

_ “My abba says that they pray to Suleiman daily begging him to bring ruin to the Daeva.” _

_ “My amma told me they are building an army to overthrow us and make us slaves.” _

_ “Afshin, didn’t one of them try to use a daeva baby to make a stew?” _

_ “But don’t they eat meat?” _

Dara addressed each rumor pointing to each boy as he spoke.

“I told you no one is just one thing. Do you know anyone hypnotized by a shafit? If they want to bring ruin to us it may have to do with our hating them… Absolutely no one would make a baby into a stew… Eating meat doesn’t make someone evil necessarily.”

“But Afshin… if they’re so harmless, why did you try to annihilate them all?” asked one of the boys who Dara had judged as relieved.

And the answer came to Dara easier than he had assumed it would. “Because I was a coward and did not think for myself.”

That night Dara could tell that he had lost a handful of admirers from the Daeva Brigade.

So be it.

He felt good. He felt lighter. This mask of a devout Daeva god among men had been shattered. A face that wasn’t his any longer discarded. He knew that the word would spread from the children to their parents and he would likely lose some appeal, but there was hope. There had been that handful of relieved recruits. Then the others who were deep in thought at their hero’s words. The ones who’d left in disbelief even. Their reactions perhaps outweighed the ones who cast him sideways glares. Even the one named Noshrad that Dara had seen debating to spit at him. 

The next morning, Adib did not sit beside Dara on the wagon. He was, however, promptly sandwiched between Emad and Hirad. The latter of which was asking Dara if he could get his Banu Nahida to relieve his hangover and the former casually asking Dara for his thoughts on ancient versus modern khanjars.

While he couldn’t make the others who had lost respect for him change their minds, he could prove to them that Darayavahoush was just as fierce when he wasn’t reveling in the deaths of innocents.

Dara had centuries of prejudices to unlearn. He had a lingering aversion to the shafit. A dark, unsettling part of him had concern that Nahri wasn’t full Daeva. 

But what mattered was that all of this  _ bothered  _ Dara. No longer did he feel compelled to internally wriggle in battle with himself. These were things he  _ knew  _ needed correction. While the doubt in himself was an issue, his certainty that he had to change was the solution.

After all, The Scourge was not worthy of Nahri. Whatever angry looks that earned him were fine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Normalize changing your opinion when confronted with new information


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dara and Nahri court for the first time

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Serotonin overload incoming

It wasn’t until a month after their engagement announcement that Dara and Nahri were settled into their respective routines.

Nahri worked in the palace infirmary most of each day while Dara continued to train with the Daeva recruits. Towards the end of every week the two would visit the Grand Temple for the evening prayer where they met various Daeva nobles and a few lesser known families.

Word had circulated fast of Dara’s reluctant attitude towards any mention of The Scourge resulting in a lower - only slightly visibly - attendance. Inwardly Dara had thought more people would be gone. The only reason so many remained were probably because some of them wanted to hear him say it for themselves. 

It had been an internal struggle in the first palanquin ride over to the Grand Temple after his fireside admission with the recruits. Part of him was almost sad that he would lose admirers. After all, over half of Daevabad hated him, and now he’d enraged what few who liked him remained.

Another part of him said:  _ you’re better for it.  _ What good were admirers if they didn’t admire what you stood for?

In the end, he found himself not caring either way. It didn’t hurt that before they stepped out of the palanquin his little thief had stolen a kiss. A “reward” she said, for his “bravery.” Dara had thrown her a stern look but his flushing cheeks betrayed him. 

“You’d be executed for that in my day, Banu Nahida,” Dara grunted, easing himself to exit the velvet curtain.

“You’re not fooling me, Afshin,” she purred.

He savored the feeling of her hand in his as she exited the palanquin before they had to separate for the remainder of their visit. Fiancé or not, he could not touch her at the Grand Temple. Not again, at least.

Nahri had remarked privately that it was strange to her, the fact that they were betrothed and he still insisted on kneeling to her, face to the ground, before entering the temple. 

_ “We can’t disappoint your people, Banu Nahida. They enjoyed it so much the first time.” _

He humored her each visit with a private wink when he bowed his head. Every time he watched the tension in her shoulders ease and the lines on her face smooth in response. He could indulge a bit of indecency here and there if it meant putting her mind at ease.

As the last of the Daevas exited the temple, Kartir allowed Dara and Nahri some privacy in the garden while they waited for their palanquin.

“It’s been a month, Afshin,” Nahri said, her fingers gently brushing the petals of a bush with white flowers.

“And?”

“And I’ve yet to be courted like a woman of society,” she grinned. 

Dara stiffened. How was perhaps the most enjoyable aspect of the next five years so anxiety inducing? 

_ Because no courting you arrange is worthy enough of the Banu Nahida… _

“I’ve been preoccupied, my lady,” Dara said, clasping his hands behind his back. “As I’m sure you can imagine.”

Nahri sighed dramatically, sinking onto the stone bench. “Yes, being a children’s entertainer is exhausting business.”

“You would be surprised,” Dara muttered remembering just two evenings ago Hirad insisting they spar into the wee hours of the morning.

“Afshin, truly.”

Her voice was gentle but imploring, taking Dara off guard. He faced Nahri to see her staring at him with a hopeful smile. It made his heart ache to see it and a rush of adrenaline urged him to take the next step dammit.

“You’ll have the day following tomorrow off, correct? No infirmary duties? No statements?”

“Yes,” she grinned.

Dara sat beside her and nodded resolutely. “I will arrange something for then.”

“Will it be fun?” Nahri asked, her eyes glinting wickedly.

Dara arched a dark brow. “I hope you will enjoy yourself,” he said. “It will be… appropriate.”

“Words to stir the loins,” Nahri said flatly.

He snorted. She was a far cry from the Banu Nahida of his time and Dara was glad for it.

“I’ve never courted anyone before, Nahri. But I acted as a guard on a number of Nahid courtings. I’m certain I can put together something worthy of you.”

She must’ve seen through the arrogant tone he had tried to lace the statement with, because Nahri offered him a warm smile placing her hand on his knee. “As long as you are there, it will suffice.”

“Nahri…” Dara growled shaking her off.

She snickered in response, always amused with his irritation. 

“Your palanquin is waiting,” Kartir said, entering the garden.

Dara and Nahri took their leave.

After the palanquin deposited Dara at his home, leaving to continue with Nahri to the palace, he was alone with his thoughts. He wracked his brain for any of the outings he’d witnessed as an Afshin. There were chaperoned dinners and chaperoned shopping. Painting in the garden with guards on the perimeter. What would she like?

The Afshin did not sleep that night. 

Dara paced in the palace garden nervously. The eyes of the Daeva Brigade watched him curiously. Obviously, they’d never seen an ancient warrior nervous about a date with his fiancée before.

His eyes flickered back to the table decorated with a teapot and a set of tea cups as well as a tray of various delicate entrees. Surrounding the table were plush, velvet cushions procured by Dara’s temporary footman, Haz - a bright eyed young man who’d left the priesthood. He was only Dara’s footman when he stayed at, or visited the palace. Otherwise Haz was a kitchen servant. That was how Dara wanted it. He didn’t take kindly to the idea of a boy always following him.

“Haz,” Dara said, chewing his thumbnail. “When can we expect the Banu Nahida?”

Dara recognized this was the second time he’d asked since they’d arrived only a quarter of an hour ago.

“In about five minutes, Afshin.”

Dara nodded and resumed his steady pacing. He knew the guards were watching him with amusement but was too nervous to care. 

What if Nahri didn’t like this? Any of this?

_ You know she likes tea and you know she likes being with you. Calm down. _

“ _ What  _ is this?” 

Dara turned quickly to see Nahri standing in one of the archways leading to the garden. By her side were two lady’s maids. Dara hadn’t thought about this part.

What had the noblemen done when greeting their betrothed Nahid? Had they knelt? No, they didn’t kneel. They bowed? No, they kissed their hands? That was too forward for the first meeting of courtship. He knew that.

_ Damn it all. _

Dara decided on bowing. “Banu Nahida,” he said quietly. 

When he rose he saw she was offering her hand to him with an expectant smile on her face. He politely declined, instead gesturing to the table where the food and tea sat. Dara may not have known the appropriate greeting for his royal fiancée but he was very well versed in the other aspects of courting.

For instance, he could only touch her for the following occasions: to help her sit or stand. 

Guiding her to the low table, Dara eased her down onto a cushion with one hand. He tried not to laugh at the floored expression on her face, then joined her.

She smirked sensing his self satisfaction then looked to the guards. “Shall I send them away?”

“Certainly  _ not _ ,” Dara scoffed, pouring her a cup of the cardamom scented tea. 

“Don’t you want some… privacy?” she hedged. 

Out of the corner of his eyes he could see she was grinning in amusement. 

“Not on our first outing. Probably not until we are wed, truthfully.”

“ _ Five years?”  _ Nahri laughed, too loudly.

Dara flashed her a stern smile. “You agreed to my conditions, Banu Nahri.”

“I did not agree to celibacy,” she whispered.

Dara snorted back a laugh, pouring himself some of the tea. “Banu Nahri, what kind of a lady are you?”

“An impatient one.”

“This I know.”

“One that wants to finish what she started in that cave…” she said in a hushed voice.

Dara’s eyes darted about the guards, Haz and Nahri’s lady’s maids. None seemed the wiser. 

While Dara normally invited his companion - no, fiancée’s - banter, they were courting. They were chaperoned. They both had to behave like the nobility they were.

Or rather in Dara’s case, that he would soon become.

“Shall I explain courtship to you, Banu Nahida? Because it is becoming clear to me you may not be wise as to what it entails.”

“Caught that, did you?” Nahri deadpanned. She took a sip of her tea and helped herself to one of the dishes of saffron pudding. 

“Courtship entails chaperoned outings - to locations approved by the royal guard - between the two of us,” Dara said simply.

“Is it really between the two of us if there are six other people in attendance?”

Dara sent his brazen wife-to-be another admonishing smile. If he couldn’t appeal to her with his words, perhaps he could with his looks. Sure enough, her mouth snapped shut and an abashed grin spread on her lips. She took another sip of her tea and met his emerald eyed gaze making his heart skip a beat. Dara cleared his throat, trying to mask the effect she had on him but he could tell by the wicked expression on her face that she was wise to his ways.

Her fingers snaked across the table towards his. He abruptly placed his hands in his lap and Nahri laughed softly. “I can’t even touch you?”

Dara offered a sheepish smile. “Banu Nahri, I would like to do this right. Please.”

His Banu Nahida rolled her eyes and went back to her pudding, smirking at him again. “So what  _ can  _ we do?”

“Whatever you like,” Dara shrugged. Before she could open her mouth he continued. “As long as the location is deemed safe by the royal guard and as long as we are chaperoned.”

“And I can’t hold your hand?”

“Certainly not yet,” the Afshin said as though it were obvious. “The first outing is for the purpose of getting to know each other only.”

“I already know you…”

“All things considered, Nahri, we still have much to learn about one another.”

“Fine. Ask me anything you wish.”

Ah, he’d already thoughtfully arranged these questions last night.

“If I were to find you in Cairo right now, what would you wish to be doing?”

Nahri blinked, seemingly dumbfounded by the question. He smiled, pleased with himself, into his tea cup, waiting for her response. Yes, he’d carefully crafted these questions knowing with a great amount of self assurance, that she would enjoy them. Hopefully, by the end of this outing, she’d find courting more enjoyable than she’d initially presumed.

“Well, by now I’d have already bothered Yaqub...”

“Who is Yaqub?” 

“A friend. Owns an apothecary. Always asking me to find a husband.”

Dara raised a brow, the corner of his lip hitching up. “Would he approve of me?”

Nahri studied the Afshin setting down her pudding and exchanging it for her tea. 

She tilted her head to the side. “Yes, I imagine he very much would.”

An overwhelming sense of pride fell over Dara. This man who Nahri clearly revered would approve of him. He tried to compose himself, to wipe off the satisfied smile itching to break on his face. Nahri must’ve noticed this and mercifully continued speaking to spare him the humiliation of appearing to be a lovesick schoolboy.

“In this scenario, is money a concept?”

“Let us imagine you have all the money you need. Not riches necessarily, but just what you require.”

Nahri nodded. “I’d probably find this cafe’ I favored. I would buy a whole pot of rosehip, hibiscus tea  _ and _ a pastry. Then I’d just watch everyone go about their day outside and do nothing at all illegal as I am a paragon of innocence.”

He smiled wryly and nodded, continuing before she could further incriminate herself to their observing chaperones. “What would your ideal day be?”

“Here or in Cairo?”

Dara shrugged. “Whichever.”

“In Cairo, my ideal day would begin with a generous client then… tea with Yaqub. A walk through the bazaar. Perhaps I could purchase some food or something nice with whatever wages I’d earned.” Her gaze was distant, a wistful smile on her face. “Maybe take a look at the Nile and end the evening on the rooftop of a building overlooking the city with a nice dinner.”

She fell silent and Dara could feel the aching she had for Cairo in his bones. He knew what it was like to miss home. To be trapped somewhere you did not belong. Perhaps he could not steal her away, but he could try and make her happy here. Nahri must have noted the sympathetic expression Dara wore because she quickly cut in before he could ask his next question.

“What about you? What’s your ideal day in Daevabad?”

And because he’d only thought about what he was going to ask her, Dara said the first thing that came to mind. “I’d be glad to do anything in your company.” 

_ This is your first outing… _

It was inappropriate but oh, did he love the look it put on her face. The way it made her cheeks flush. 

“But otherwise,” he said, forcing himself to look elsewhere and regain composure. “Take a horse to the Gozan perhaps. Have some wine at a nearby tavern. Go view the mosaics in the Daeva quarter.”

The conversation continued in the same polite manner. Dara would ask a thoughtful question, Nahri would answer. Nahri would ask him a question, Dara would become flustered and forget himself. He’d arranged a stroll through the palace gardens for them, but by the time they’d finished talking nearly three hours had passed and it was almost time for supper. He didn’t want to give her up. He didn’t want to say goodnight just yet. But this session had already gone on an hour longer than it should have. 

_ You’ve got to do this right. _

“I’ve kept you late,” Dara said with a grimace.

“What?” Nahri gawked. “That’s ridiculous. I feel like I barely get to see you now. We’re making up for lost time, Afshin.”

“Banu Nahida, the first few courtings usually last no more than an hour.  _ Two _ at the most.”

“Well, it’s a good thing that next is supper which is different from courting.”

“Nahri-“

“You don’t have to come to the dining hall. We can take dinner at your house.”

“No, Nahri-“

“If it makes you feel better, we’ll let them escort us there in the royal palanquin!”

“ _ Nahri.” _

_ “Dara.” _

He sighed, closing his eyes and fighting every urge to take her up on this offer. It was inappropriate. They were still just starting out. He had to earn the privilege to be alone with her. Perhaps he could make her understand if he gave in, just a little.  _ Just a little.  _ Dara took her hands in his and waited for the gasps of the chaperones, for a royal guard to clear his throat in protest. But no one made a sound.

_ Maybe I am old fashioned. _

“Nahri, the aim of courting is different than traversing the deserts. It isn’t about survival, it’s about seeing if we are compatible as more than traveling companions. It’s about seeing if we are compatible as… as…” Dara huffed at himself for the difficulty he was having. “As a man and woman with the intention of being together until death.”

Her brows furrowed. “Aren’t there other ways to determine that? More… casual and private ways.”

“Nahri-“

“No, I only mean something as innocent as dinner. I just… I only want to be alone with you again.”

He squeezed her fingers tighter, his lips turning up at the corners. “We’ll have plenty of time alone, Banu Nahida. That is an oath to you.”

Her expression seemed defeated, she let go of his hand and exhaled through her nose. In spite of himself, Dara felt guilty.

“Nahri, I only want to do this right. I want to earn this the right way,” he said apologetically. “I want to earn you like any normal man would have to.”

After a long pause where his Banu Nahida seemed to mull the idea over, she relented with a tarnished smile. He couldn’t help but match her expression. If only Nahri knew how badly he truly wanted to get her alone. To have her all to himself. To show her his bedroom. To prove he would make a very,  _ very  _ satisfactory husband.

“Alright, Afshin,” Nahri said with a nod. “But I arrange our next session by more modern standards.”

“Modern?” he asked quizzically.

“Yes, I’ll do my research and everything. See what today’s courting entails because I have a feeling yours is very outdated.”

Dara arched a dark brow. “A compromise?”

She lifted her brow in return and Dara was immediately powerless to her. 

“Aye, a compromise. I have been persuaded.” Dara pointed a finger at her. “But it will be… appropriate?”

“Yes, yes, Afshin. I’ll think pure thoughts and not even consider touching your wrist.”

Dara laughed softly and stood from the table, offering her his hand. She took it with a dramatically grateful bow of her head and stood. 

The Afshin guided his Banu Nahida to her lady’s maids and decided:

_ Fine. I can be a bit more modern for her. _

He gently lifted her knuckles to his lips. “Have a good evening, Banu Nahri,” he said, breath hot on her fingers.

Again, that satisfying blush touched her cheeks - she beamed at him with that wicked grin that made his knees weaker than any General Afshin’s should be. 

Then she left with her lady’s maids leaving Dara to his splendid thoughts, allowing him a pleasant self-admission.

_ I can make a fine husband. _


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dara guards the emir and the princess receiving some advice

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some Dara and Dhiru for you

_Creator, give me patience…_

The plea had been repeating in Dara’s head since he’d reluctantly received the instructions from Jamshid on how he was to look after the emir for today. Dara had never envied the Daeva Captain more. While Dara played nursemaid to Muntadhir, Jamshid would be training the Daeva Brigade recruits in archery. It was an unfair trade-off, that was for sure.

It wasn’t necessarily that he didn’t like the emir. As he’d discovered when they were hunting ifrit, the prince was enjoyable company with enough wine in him - even if he did talk too much. The emir was… amusing. At best. He _did_ have a penchant for being rather smug though. Dara realized that it was hypocritical of him to admonish such an aspect of Muntadhir’s character, but at least he wasn’t as unbearably arrogant or entitled as the emir. 

Or was he?

_At least I’m punctual…_

Dara continued to wait outside the doors to Muntadhir’s apartment, he wore a patient expression, endeavoring his best to hide his irritation. Jamshid had warned him that the emir tended to oversleep. Especially when he had company. Even more especially when he had enjoyed more wine than necessary the previous evening.

 _“You’ll be surprised at how well he can hold himself when he’s recovering though,”_ Jamshid had said, trying to appear cheerful.

Dara snorted again, just as he had when Jamshid had told him that. The Captain was likely being generous - it hadn’t escaped Dara’s notice that the young man was rather infatuated with the emir. 

The doors to the apartment opened to reveal the emir leaning in the entryway. 

To Dara’s surprise, Muntadhir’s face wasn’t flushed, his hair was tidy, his clothing was crisp and he stood with the posture of someone ready to begin their day… at nearly noon.

Oh, but his face. His eyes were narrowed and a brow raised, a sneer on his lips that Dara recognized as someone who had likely just expelled the contents of the breakfast delivered to their quarters a few hours ago.

“Afshin,” the emir croaked. “Good morning.”

“Good _afternoon,_ ” smirked Dara. 

Two women appeared behind Muntadhir, hastily straightening their chadors and bustling past him with flushed cheeks. They regarded Dara with a nod.

“Friends of yours...” Dara trailed off as two more women proceeded to exit in much the same fashion.

Muntadhir didn’t bother with a goodbye, merely waving his hand as the women continued down the hall. He gestured grandly for Dara to enter his quarters. “Join me for a drink, Darayavahoush?”

Dara cocked his head ever so slightly. “Of _water?_ ”

Muntadhir laughed, a drowsy sound. “Sure.” 

He walked with a lazy stride further into his bedroom, Dara shutting the door behind them. “Do you not worry that people may talk about the Afshin entering your quarters, emir?”

Muntadhir was kneeling on the floor gathering a series of pillows and a blanket that looked to be fashioned into some sort of makeshift bed. He noticed the emir’s actual bed appeared to be used as well. It was best not to question it. A bodyguard minded their business.

The emir haplessly tossed the pillows and blanket onto the bed, then crossed to a polished bar stocked with bottles in varying shapes and colors. 

“What will you have, Afshin?”

Dara snapped his fingers lazily conjuring a cup of tea. The one Nahri was partial to. He found it comforting to drink in her absence. Muntadhir noted the Afshin’s action, his lips turning down at the corners in approval. He poured himself a goblet of wine, pinched his nose and threw it back. Dara felt nauseous for him.

Only then did the emir pour himself a glass of water.

“Remind me the chores I have today?” Muntadhir murmured.

“Is Jamshid your bodyguard or personal assistant?”

Muntadhir chuckled as though enjoying a private joke. “Captain Pramukh is whatever I ask him to be.” He took another swig of his water. “Now, do you not know what is on my agenda or are you just being difficult, Darayavahoush?”

Dara pursed his lips, holding back a sneer. “You are dining with your sister in the palace gardens in a half of an hour.”

Muntadhir grinned. “Oh, Zaynab will take kindly to your audience…”

“I will not be in your audience, emir. I’ll be monitoring the perimeter.”

Muntadhir kicked off of the bar he’d been leaning on, setting down his water. He gave Dara’s shoulder a squeeze, making the Afshin clasp his hands tighter behind his back. 

“While I hate to spoil your brooding,” Muntadhir said pleasantly, “you have your first royal dinner approaching… and wouldn’t you appreciate some pointers?”

Dara felt his stomach lurch. Yes, his first royal dinner with the Qahtanis was tomorrow evening and no, he had no clue how to dine as a Royal. He had basic table manners, of course. That was not an issue. However, there was a way to sit, a way to eat, a proper order of what dish you should consume at which time and Dara was not wise to any of this. He had asked Nahri for her advice and she’d plainly said “I eat what I choose” and shrugged her shoulders. 

Well, that may serve very well for _the_ Banu Nahida… but he was an Afshin. He didn’t have royal blood. If he was going to fit in, if he was going to earn his place, he needed to play the role properly. 

Of course, as Dara was very poor in hiding his emotions, Muntadhir must’ve observed the contemplation on his face. Dara could tell because Muntadhir was wearing that smug smile he was coming to dislike more and more as it was directed at him. Emir or not, Muntadhir was a boy who was irritating him now. Dara didn’t fight the urge to roll his eyes and to his surprise, the emir laughed.

“Creator, I _exhaust_ you, don’t I?”

This time Dara had to fight a little harder with the twitching at the corner of his lip.

“I’ll give you a break,” Muntadhir shrugged with a wink. “As emir I demand that you stand behind me and observe me dining with the princess. Not for researching purposes but because I am a spoiled sandfly of a prince and want your attention.”

Dara opened his mouth, intending to snidely advise the emir not to refer to himself so informally when Muntadhir raised a finger.

“You’re welcome.”

The way the Princess’s eyes glimmered at the sight of Dara only further indicated that what Nahri had informed him she had said about him was correct.

_“Even more handsome than the legends say…”_

Her lips turned up at the sight of him and even as Muntadhir kissed both her cheeks when they joined her in the garden, Zaynab kept her eyes on Dara.

As the emir had “demanded,” Dara stood to his side at the luncheon table, casually observing the royal siblings. Zaynab was served juice from a pitcher on the table by one of the servants. Dara wondered why she couldn’t have just done it herself, but it was good that he had witnessed that. Otherwise he would certainly have served himself a glass tomorrow evening. Creator knew how big a royal faux pas that would’ve been.

“Handsome company you’ve brought along for lunch, brother,” Zaynab said with a glint in her eye. “Where is Captain Pramukh.”

“The Daeva Brigade requires him for archery training,” Muntadhir said, a bored expression on his symmetrical features. “I’ve exchanged him for a more… matured substitute.”

Dara had lost count of how many times he had rolled his eyes now. Zaynab laughed softly, spearing a grape and turning her attention to Dara.

_They eat grapes with forks?_

She removed the grape from her fork and placed it delicately on her tongue.

 _They pick up grapes with forks and_ then _eat them with their fingers?_

Muntadhir looked up at Dara from his seat, following Zaynab’s gaze. Dara didn’t like the feeling it elicited, his dislike increasing at the mischievous smile playing on Muntadhir’s lips as he raised his glass.

“Darayavahoush will be a Daeva Noble in five years' time if you didn’t hear.”

Dara snorted

_A Daeva Noble. Nahri should be your queen, you entitled sandfly._

Dara blinked, surprised at his own thoughts that had placed him at Nahri’s side as a king. The idea alone made him sick. The last thing Dara wanted was to be in charge of people again. Even the prospect of becoming a Captain in the Daeva Brigade frightened him. 

_You want her on the throne, don’t you?_

Of course he did. He wanted her wherever she was happiest.

_Is that on the throne?_

Creator, he didn’t know. All Nahri seemed to want was a place to practice medicine and his company.

“How are you taking to royal life, Darayavahoush? You have your first dinner with our family tomorrow night,” Zaynab asked, eyes dancing with mirth.

Before Dara could summon the appropriate response, Muntadhir was wearing that unbearably smug grin again.

“He is _nervous_.”

Dara bristled. The princess’s expression became sympathetic and Dara suddenly wasn’t sure what was worse: Zaynab’s concern or Muntadhir’s amusement.

“It’s not so difficult, Afshin. Just chew with your mouth closed, let the servants fill your drink and remember to eat in the right order,” Zaynab explained.

Too annoyed to regulate himself, Dara blurted out the question he’d been meaning to ask: “What is this ‘right order?’”

Zaynab looked utterly overjoyed at the question he had posed to her. Muntadhir shook his head, tutting Dara quietly.

“You didn’t use her title…”

It was Zaynab’s turn to roll her eyea. “Oh, Muntadhir, you’re unbearable sometimes.”

“I’m inclined to agree, _Princess._ ”

Zaynab’s smile broadened as she looked from Muntadhir’s scowl to Dara’s smirk. She seemed excited at the prospect of conversation with him. 

_Is that new for a woman to crave your company?_

It was new for a sandfly…

“Darayavahoush, won’t you sit by me?” Zaynab asked politely.

“I’m on duty, Princess. I can listen just as well protecting your brother from this bushel of flowers,” Dara grinned.

Zaynab laughed at Muntadhir’s disgruntled expression. “We’ll have lots of fun, Afshin. Now, you always start with fruit…”

Zaynab animatedly explained what order to eat the food in, also elaborating that it wasn’t a rule necessarily, but a recommendation those with “good taste” followed. She indicated which foods were to be eaten with your hands and how much wine was appropriate to drink. His every question was answered and while Dara was somewhat suspicious given Nahri’s first experience with the Princess, he felt deep down that she was being sincere. Zaynab was bored, but not cruel. Nahri had merely been caught in the crossfire of her amusement. 

That’s what motivated the Princess. Amusement and the exchanging of secret smiles. In Dara’s experience, once you have deciphered what motivated a person, you could see right through them.

Part of the Afshin wanted to glower at the woman who’d distressed his fiancée so greatly, but another part of him, one that had been growing increasingly visible, trusted Zaynab’s advice. 

Because what was more amusing than Dara making a fool of himself at dinner, would be her family’s reaction to him behaving himself.

Eventually lunch was finished and Muntadhir’s next appointment was with Daevabad’s Treasury. 

“I’ll be in there for hours,” Muntadhir groaned as they approached the meeting room. “And I’ve never had a talent for numbers or figures or anything boring really.”

“What _do_ you have a talent for, emir?” Dara asked flatly.

Muntadhir looked over his shoulder, regarding the Afshin with a smile. Was it Dara’s imagination or was the emir… starting to like him?

“The important things,” Muntadhir said listlessly. “Poetry, people, wine, women, archery even.”

Dara couldn’t fight back the laugh that escaped him. Why on earth would the prince mention to Darayavahoush e-Afshin he was “talented” with a bow? Muntadhir’s reaction was neither angry or dismissive. He gave the Afshin a skeptical look instead.

“Oh? Are you so quick to doubt me, Afshin?”

“Forgive me, emir,” Dara muttered, his lip tipping up at the edge.

“I suppose I can hold off on having you executed this time.” They arrived at the double doors of the meeting room. “At least until you accompany me again. I’ll have to prove to you my talent with a bow.”

Another laugh threatened to creep up Dara’s throat. He cleared his throat, resting a hand on his khanjar and nodding his head.

Muntadhir’s eyes twinkled. “We’ll have a contest.”

“Ya, emir, you don’t want that…” Dara chuckled.

“If I win,” he began, placing his fingers on the door handle. “You have to take advice from me instead of Zaynab.”

“That is a poor bargain for yourself and I already received more advice than I required from Zaynab.”

“Not about dinner, Dara.”

The sound of his short name coming from Muntadhir almost alarmed him.

“No, I told you one of my talents is women, dear Afshin. If I can beat you with a bow, you must let me help you court the Banu Nahida.”

Dara’s neck was hot, he felt outrage pulse through him. The spoiled brat was offering him help courting his fiancée? 

“Think it over, Afshin. You’re dismissed. By the time this is over, Captain Pramukh should be back.”

“Muntadhir-“

But the emir only grinned and stepped into the meeting room. That smug expression still on his handsome face. 

And as much as Dara thought the emir could do with a good punch in the face, he was eager for his advice.

After all, the emir had admitted he had a talent for women.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love these boys


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dara goes to his first dinner with the royal family and afterwards makes up for lost time

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING SHAMELESS SMUT INCOMING

The royal palanquin arrived outside of Dara’s home nearly an hour before the dinner was supposed to take place. Dara, donning a midnight blue jacket and pants with gold embroidery, stared at his silver bow hung by the door. Every instinct told him to bring it. Sling it over his back as usual and ignore any taunting from the emir or his siblings.

But then again, he could just conjure the weapon if there was an emergency. He wouldn’t be able to feel it’s comforting weight against his shoulders but at least he wouldn’t risk embarrassing Nahri. 

Dara glanced out the window at the waiting palanquin then back at his bow. He released a discontented growl and settled with leaving it behind, exiting his home. With a wave of his hand he cast a particularly nasty security curse on his front door and headed over to the palanquin. The guards stood aside allowing him to pull open the heavy curtain and clamber inside. 

He sighed loudly, settling back against the pillows - that were too soft for his liking - and stroked his jaw. 

“You look handsome,  _ betrothed _ .”

Dara gasped, looking up to find Nahri eyeing him with that wicked smile. The way his heart fluttered and his stomach flipped when she called him that, “betrothed,” he would never admit. Her legs were crossed and her chin was poised on her propped up fists. Dara let out an exhale of relief then shook his head in aggravation.

“Banu Nahida, this is wildly inappropriate. You were to meet me at the palace gates.”

“Technically, we’re not alone,” Nahri said as the palanquin shifted. They were off to the palace now. “There are ten guards surrounding us.”

“We are still alone  _ together. _ ”

“You know, Muntadhir told me that it isn’t uncommon for engaged couples to be alone together on occasion.”

Dara nodded methodically. “We are fortunate to receive advice from such a bastion of propriety. You should consider getting his opinion on healing remedies as yesterday I witnessed him treat a hangover with a goblet of wine.”

When he met her eyes he saw that they were soft, she wore a sad sort of smile, not a hint of humor on her lips. Dara’s forehead creased in concern.

“Dara, I wish things could be like they were before… like when we were traveling here.”

The corner of Dara’s lip hitched up. “Like when we were running for our lives?”

“Like when you treated me as a companion and not some royal.”

Dara felt as though he’d been struck. Her dark eyes glimmered as she tried to hold back tears, it didn’t escape Dara’s notice the way she swallowed hard. She was hurt and it was pure agony to know he was even a small part of the cause.

“Oh, Nahri, please don’t cry.” Etiquette be damned, Dara leaned forward, taking her face in his hands and turning her to look at him. “Forgive me. I’ve never been anyone’s… ‘betrothed’ before and it is possible I’ve been so concerned with doing the job properly that I’ve neglected you. I couldn’t bear it if I…”

His cheeks felt hot and his hands fell from her face. Nahri was quick to catch them, intertwining their fingers. “If what, Dara?”

Dara took a deep breath and let the words spill out of him. “If I  _ failed  _ you.”

Nahri looked bewildered, her eyebrows drew together in concern. She squeezed his hands tighter. “Dara, you saved me.”

“I  _ stole  _ you.”

“Well, maybe at first it felt that way,” Nahri shrugged. “But I couldn’t very well have remained in Cairo, could I? With ghouls and ifrit and all types of monsters after me.”

Dara nodded. “But now you are  _ here,  _ Nahri. Practically forced into marriage with no choice but a dead man for your husband.”

“Is that all you think you are?” 

He exhaled, shoving the guilt building in his chest deep down. He’d been suppressing it ever since he accepted her hand. Dara was not the man for this job. He had been right the first time, this was foolish and selfish. Even if Nahri didn’t know better. They were both better off elsewhere, weren’t they? Him, off on his own, hunting down ifrit. Her, married to a man that had a bright future… and a pulse.

“Dara, you are so much more than that,” Nahri said gently. “Without you, I’d be married off to someone I barely know.”

“You know  _ me _ ?”

“I know enough,” she said resolutely. He could see in the ways her eyes blazed that there was no convincing her otherwise. “And I know that I like you. That I may even-“

“Nahri, wait,” Dara cut off. “Do not say it. Not until you’re certain of it.  _ Please. _ ”

Abashed, Nahri nodded. She looked as though she was considering saying something else but Dara spoke first. “It is not that I do not want to hear it, Nahri. It is that if I did... I could not stand if you took it back. And I’ve yet to earn such affection.”

He could see it in her eyes. In the way her brows pulled together, in the way her lips pursed, in the lines creasing her forehead. She was thinking of that night. Of his confessions. Of the blood on his hands. She knew he was right. That he had a long way to go till he earned her love. Or at least earned the privilege of her professing it. 

“Nahri,” Dara said with a warm smile. “Simply being allowed the opportunity to earn your heart is enough for me. For now, at least.”

Her expression was happy, sad and relieved all at once. “It is yours.”

“Thank you,” Dara said, bringing her fingers to his lips.

Nahri’s cheeks turned red. “When do you think we’ll pick up where we left off in that cave? Or at least kiss? Be realistic,  _ five years _ ?”

Dara snorted. “You’ve yet to request a kiss from me.”

“I didn’t think I had to submit a form to receive a kiss.”

Truthfully, Dara had not known a kiss meant so much to Nahri. A kiss, from him? Was he really more than just a means to an end for her? Was she truly… interested in  _ him?  _

_ She’s practically spelled it out for you, you oaf. Does it need saying? _

“You don’t have to answer now,” Nahri said, breaking the silence. “But know that I am growing impatient, Afshin.”

“Noted,” Dara replied, ruefully.

The rest of the ride to the palace was spent in companionable silence, their fingers laced in the privacy of the palanquin. 

It was strange to look at her and think that in five year’s time she would be his wife. That he would be her husband. Him. A husband. Of all the things he grew up thinking he would be, of all the things he wondered if he  _ could be _ , a husband had not been among them. That particular occupation was one he had only dreamed of, never one he thought he could have. He never thought he could have anything like Nahri.

He tried hard not to think beyond that. Not to think beyond their marriage. Beyond their wedding night. After that, she’d be expected to produce an heir. Something he was uncertain that he could give her. 

_ She said she wanted to try. You both want to try. _

It was true. In fact, this whole endeavor wasn’t entirely selfish. Mostly just foolish, really.

But tonight he would not trouble himself over infertility. He had a dinner to survive first.

Dara had always thought the dining hall was grand - extravagant even - when he was a young man. It’s polished finery had made his jaw drop in wonder that ceilings could be so high, or floors could be so glossy. His family’s home, like many others, had been a far cry from anything so resplendent and even now the stark difference made him feel out of his element. Dara felt as though he was imposing himself upon the building, even dressed in his noblemen’s attire. He felt as though if your eyes lingered on him for too long, you could see he was an impostor. 

Then he saw Nahri smile at him, and it was all suddenly a little easier. 

Surrounding the dining hall table - which had already been dressed with an amount of food that would’ve made Dara’s mouth water had he been alive - the royal family chatted in hushed tones. Occasionally a polite laugh from Zaynab, Muntadhir or Ghassan would shatter the near silent buzz, but with their quiet voices Dara couldn’t help but imagine they were talking about him. He clasped his hands tighter behind his back, then quickly released them, letting them hang by his sides instead. Dara reminded himself that he was to behave as a nobleman and not a soldier tonight. 

His hands itched to return to that familiar position. He clenched his fists in response, resisting the urge.

Dara smirked at Nahri. “So do they ever consume the food or do they just talk standing around it?”

“The latter would explain why Zaynab is so thin,” Nahri remarked, slightly bitter. She turned her attention back to Dara. “But typically they like to talk before they dine. Look at the shape of the table.”

Dara looked at the long, shiny table, set with cutlery, dishes of food and bottles upon bottles of wine. Six chairs lined one side of the table. It was strange that there weren’t three on each side. They were to eat facing straight ahead? 

“So they try to have their private conversations before we sit since we can hardly speak with one another quietly then,” Nahri explained.

Dara gave her a confused look. “Is there a performance aspect to this dinner I’ve not been made aware of? Why are we all facing forward?”

The Afshin family had a similarly long table, but each side had been occupied. They were able to look upon one another’s faces and mutter snide remarks beneath the roar of conversation. 

“Listen, I don’t know why rich people act the way that they do. I simply play along.”

And so she did. After they were all seated Nahri sat to the right of Dara at the end of the table with a posture that was unfamiliar to him. She delicately served herself the food of her choosing and carefully consumed her wine.

Meanwhile, Dara did his best to remember Zaynab’s rules under the glowering gaze of Alizayd al-Qahtani who had been going out of his way to crane his long neck to look at him.

Dara’s ears were hot, his tongue was threatening to hurl a barbed remark at the young Qaid when Ghassan spoke up.

“Darayavahoush, how is your training with the Daeva Brigade progressing? Today was your first day of archery with them, was it not?”

_ Fuck you. _

“It is going well. The boys display tremendous talent with the weapon.”

“I’m sure it doesn’t hurt that they have you as an instructor,” Zaynab interjected.

Dara was somewhat surprised when she spoke up. At the Royal dinners he had stood guard at, no female member of the family was to speak unless spoken to.

“I’m not an instructor, I’m a recruit.”

Down the table Ali snorted. Dara couldn’t help but share the sentiment. It was truly comical.

“By what Jamshid has told me, you’re quickly excelling. If you keep it up, Afshin, perhaps you can be an instructor some day,” the emir said, Dara could hear a smile in his voice.

Dara rolled his eyes in irritation, biting back a snide comment.

_ Do not embarrass Nahri. _

Beneath the table he felt her squeeze his knee. The indecorum could be disregarded because it worked like magic. Dara’s patience was instantly restored.

“Yes, I imagine so.”

Polite questions were asked and Dara was - much to his relief - only addressed twice. When it came time for dessert wine, he found his guard was coming down. The tension in between his shoulders easing. 

“Nahri, weddings are a favorite of mine,” Zaynab interjected. “My father informs me yours is to take place here in the palace. Have you given much thought to the ceremony?”

“Ah, yes, will we see any Nahid traditions?” Muntadhir chimed in.

Nahri blinked beside Dara, shaking her head. “I do not know of any.”

“Well, perhaps your Afshin can help. I’m sure he witnessed some,” suggested Zaynab.

Dara heard the shifting of fabric as the occupants of the table leaned forward to get a better look at him. He’d guarded many Nahid weddings but the traditions of the ceremonies weren’t something he memorized. His brain was occupied with strategies, combat and his sister - not profligate displays of affection. 

“I’m afraid I only recall the signing of a scroll and that the groom gives his wife a gift…”

Zaynab’s lips turned down at the corners in approval and Muntadhir looked genuinely intrigued.

“Sounds similar to our own customs,” the emir said. “A dowry and a contract. What of marriage masks?”

“I am not familiar,” Dara muttered.

Ghassan leaned forward to eye Nahri. “I’m sure the ancient Nahid texts detail plenty of customs. Perhaps Ali can show you the library, Banu Nahri. Permitted your fiancé approves of you being in the Qaid’s company.”

Dara’s jaw tightened, he cleared his throat. What did it matter if she was with “Little Zaydi?” She was engaged to him, was she not? Part of Dara wondered if this was a test. Was Ghassan attempting to get a rise out of Dara? Drive a wedge between him and Nahri? Dara’s temper flared, he inhaled deeply through his nose doing his best to appear ambivalent. 

Dara shrugged, taking a sip of his wine. “It matters not to me. I am not the Banu Nahida’s keeper.”

Out of the corner of his eye he saw Nahri’s lip twitch up briefly. Enormously pleased with himself, Dara took Nahri’s hand beneath the table giving her fingers a squeeze.

Dinner proved to be rather harmless and if anything was truly at stake, it was Dara’s stomach. He didn’t require much food in his current state, so the never ending platters coming from the kitchens were a burden on him.

Polite but awkward goodbyes were exchanged, Ghassan mentioned something about seeing Dara and the Banu Nahida for dinner more often, but the night was finally over. 

Nahri was escorting Dara to the Palace Gates moving at a pace far slower than was reasonable. The Afshin had no qualms with delaying their farewell. Truthfully he wanted Nahri to come home with him for no other reason than to discuss the evening. Talk about the absurd amount of Tamarind that Ali had drunk. Or how many times he’d heard Muntadhir snort back a laugh. Or any multitude of unimportant details about their evening together. 

_ “You know, Muntadhir told me that it isn’t uncommon for engaged couples to be alone together on occasion.” _

He could do it. He could invite himself to her quarters. They didn’t have to  _ do _ anything, they could just talk. Just because he had imagined what it would feel like to thread his fingers in her hair or feel the skin of her thigh on his palm didn’t mean they would-

_ You are still courting... _

They arrived at the palace’s front steps. At the bottom a palanquin awaited Dara. Nahri hovered on the top step. He paused with her and met her gaze. Those fathomless black eyes deep in concentration as she bit her lower lip. He waited with bated breath as she fidgeted with the hem of her chador, tucking a stray curl back within the confines. His eyes caught sight of her fingers, delicate and soft. He wanted to grab them. 

“Are you… do you want to come to my room? Just for tea.”

Dara fought off a pained expression, masking it with a polite smile. “It is getting late.”

“You could stay here tonight. In your quarters.”

Dara’s eyes flickered to the palace guards, readying himself to scowl at their prying gaze… but they didn’t seem to be paying attention. Or at least they were good at pretending not to.

Could Dara be the only one who cared about “doing things the right way?” Did it really not matter to anyone else? 

Every part of Dara screamed “yes” and pleaded for him to go with her. To enjoy the evening. To enjoy himself. It was what the Afshin  _ wanted. _

But he was not simply an “Afshin” anymore. He was the Banu Nahida’s betrothed, and no matter what stirred in his stomach, no matter how his breath caught when their eyes met, he needed to behave as such. So he offered her a sheepish smile and leaned in, pressing a gentle kiss to her cheek. He heard her sigh when he pulled away. Her eyes were impassive but her lips were pursed.

“Good night, Banu Nahida.”

As Dara descended the palace steps, Nahri called after him. “You know a good Afshin would listen to his Banu Nahida.”

He turned and faced her with a wistful grin. “I am attempting to be a good fiancé, not a good Afshin. Not tonight.”

The moment Dara had clambered into the palanquin, he regretted his decision. He should’ve stayed. He should’ve said yes. He should’ve just done what he wanted. It was what she wanted too. He had been right earlier when he told Nahri that he had been too concerned with being a “proper fiancé” that he had lost sight of being a good one.

Dara paced the floor of his modest bedroom debating on if he should go back to the palace. He didn’t need a palanquin. He could probably just take his horse. He could even walk. It wasn’t that far. 

The more old fashioned residents of the palace would talk, Muntadhir would certainly have something to say…

Not if he snuck in. Not if he climbed through her window. His eyes drifted to the carpet on his floor. Yes, he could enchant, fly above eyesight to her quarters and slip into her apartments. They could have tea. They would talk just as she had requested. Just as Dara had wanted. If one thing led to another then…

_ Knock! Knock! Knock! _

Dara groaned at the sound of someone at his front door. Likely a restless Daeva boy eager to ask Dara for his company. Any other evening he would be glad for it. He walked downstairs, preparing to tell whichever boy it was to come back tomorrow night, that he would make it up to them.

Dara opened his front door, not even bothering to close his jacket. Before him stood a woman in a greying abaya and chador, her head bowed. While half of her face was veiled and there was no royal guard in sight this was very decidedly his fiancée. 

He shook his head. “Oh, Banu Nahida.” On instinct, seeing her unprotected in the evening light, Dara gently took her shoulder and pulled her inside. “You should not be out on your own at night,” he said, shutting the door. Dara arched a brow at her, only half serious. “Part of me worries about if you’d been under my care fourteen hundred years ago. Your violations of royal protection would certainly add up.”

“You didn’t leave me much of a choice,” she smirked.

Nahri removed her veil, slowly making her way through Dara’s home. He was suddenly very aware of his humble decor. If Nahri noticed she didn’t say anything.

“Uh… tea? Wine?” Dara muttered casually.

A fierceness flashed in Nahri’s eyes that sent a wave of numbness through Dara’s. His heart beat against his ribs as his eyes made out the curve of her hips beneath her abaya. 

She seemed to take him in with a similar amount of vigor, her eyes tracing the shape of his arms, his neck, the skin of his chest.

_ “I wish things could be like they were before…” _

He recalled his hand brushing hers, their bodies touching as he guided her throwing a knife.

_ “...like when we were traveling here…” _

The coolness of the cave floor on his back, her leaning over him, curls sweeping his face, raising his hand to cup her cheek. The smoothness of her skin beneath his thumb.

Dara took a step towards Nahri. She leaned back against the wall, eyes flickering to the doorway that led to his bedroom. Of course, that’s why she said nothing about his lack of decor. Because she had been looking for the bedroom. 

“Like before, little thief?” he said standing before her, a hand braced against the space above her. He inclined his head, eyes lingering on her lips.

She nodded, taking his meaning immediately. “Yes.”

_ So be it. _

Before he could press his lips to her’s, Nahri had threaded her fingers in his hair yanking his face down. Their lips collided and Dara’s head swam as he allowed himself to become completely lost to the moment. Lost to her. 

Instinctively, his fingers were on her waist then sliding down to her hips. The curves of her body beneath his palms were intoxicating. 

Her hands pressed flat against his chest, ardently pushing him towards the bedroom. 

When the backs of her legs touched his bed she shoved him away and urgently began to remove her chador, her abaya, her slippers. Without question Dara followed suit, shirking off his jacket and trousers.

He could barely focus, almost drunk on this long forgotten sensation surging through him. Dara had never realized how vividly he had imagined what Nahri looked like naked until confronted with the sight of her. Nothing he had conjured after seeing her bathe in the river could do her justice.

Her hand reached out, grabbing his arm and pulling her to him again. He gently lowered her onto the bed, one hand cupping her neck and the other on the small of her back. Dara hovered above her now, her dark hair splayed about his pillow. He remarked to himself that he could get used to her being here. Like this.

But a wicked smile spread on her lip, her grip on his bicep tightened. “Like before? Remember?”

He remembered. He remembered the way his heart had sped up at the sight of her leaning over him. The way her curls dangled over his face.

Dara nodded, the corner of his lip hitched up and her eyes danced. 

His hands gripped her hips and flipped her so that she straddled his waist. 

The bed was too soft to be a cave floor, the lighting too warm, but neither of these things mattered. All that mattered was the way she looked at him. Her lips barely parted, breath seemingly caught in her throat.

Dara brought his hand up to touch her cheek then slid it to cup the nape of her neck. 

“Nahri, you are certain?” he asked, voice hoarse with longing.

In response she grabbed his member and leaned closer to him, her teeth grazing his jawline while she trailed hot breathed kisses down his neck. As she continued to rock her hips steadily against him, her teeth snagged Dara’s lower lip.

He pulled her face to his then separated them, kissing her clavicle. His other hand felt the underside of her breast, index finger tracing slow circles around the peak of Nahri’s nipple.

Underneath the folds of her abaya he had known that she was likely a beauty, but he had not imagined anything this exquisite. The fullness of her breasts, their rounded edges above her waist, curving in as his hand slid down her ribs, thumbs stroking the edges. 

When his hands reached her hips and eased himself into her. Nahri shuddered at the sensation, ragged breath escaping her lips as she sat up and tossed her head back. 

Dara felt the skin on his chest prickle as Nahri planted one of her hands against him, pinning him to the bed.

“Finally,” she grinned, breathlessly. Her hips moved rhythmically against him and Dara felt his knees buckle beneath her.

Nahri hummed in approval, now placing her other hand on the pillow beside his head. Her face was tinged with pink, the curtain of her hair tickled his neck. She bucked her hips suddenly and Dara felt his body wracked with pleasure. He let out a moan, hands gripping her waist tighter.

“Do you regret it, Afshin?” she asked, rocking her hips again.

“Wh-what?” he stammered.

“Do you regret refusing me that night in the cave?”

If he had slightly regretted it before, then he wholly regretted it now. Dara nodded, shifting himself to sit up straighter, fingers digging into the soft skin of her thighs as she grinded against him.

“Show me how much,” she demanded, eyes glinting with a challenge that Dara was more than happy to accept.

Dara lifted Nahri off of him, sitting up against the headboard of the bed. The space between her thighs was delightfully slick. When he lowered her back onto him, she wrapped her legs around his torso, hands sliding up to grip his shoulder blades.

She inclined her head again, teeth nipping at his ear. Dara buried his head in the crook of her neck,

lips tracing her neck and shoulder, he knotted his fingers into her curls. 

She was cool beneath his scalding touch as his hands lowered to her waist.

“Dara, show me how much,” she repeated. 

Oh, but he was enjoying taunting her. He’d never never done this before. He never had felt the need to prolong pleasure so strongly. To deny her desires until she was burning with them. But he could acquiesce. 

A devilish grin played on his face. “As my Banu Nahida wishes.”

His fingers dug deeper into her waist, thumbs brushing the lower side of her rib cage. Her fingers scraped his broad shoulders. He pulled himself further into her, thrusting his hips. Once. Twice. Three times.

She moaned, nails sinking into the skin of his back. His name tumbled for her lips breathlessly. “ _ Dara _ .”

It had been a long time since anyone had said his name in that fashion and he was startled at his longing for her to say it again and again. Nahri’s knees clenched at his sides and he felt her tighten around him. Dara panted as she bucked her hips against him, her breathing hitching with every movement.

“Little thief, I thought I was to show  _ you _ ,” he chuckled, their noses touching. 

Her dark eyes met his, lashes fluttering against his skin. “You called it,” she said, settling herself higher on him. “I’m impatient.”

Dara accepted the unspoken challenge, increasing the pace. Nahri let out a strangled cry, her thighs trembling around him. 

He felt her back heave and her hips jerk as she came undone, leaving him in ruins. Clutching her closer they slowly came to a stop. She quivered in his embrace and Dara continued to exhale raggedly as he finished. Nahri laughed softly, her eyes met his.

“You regret it  _ that _ much?”

Dara grinned, his head still swimming with pleasure. “If denying you results in  _ that  _ then I will do it more often.”

“Don’t you dare, Afshin,” she said, sliding off of him and lying on her side. Her hand ran across the blanket beneath them. “It’s too bad I have to return to the palace to avoid shaming my ancestors,” she pouted.

Dara, still recovering, tried to wrap his head around the sentence. Ah, yes, she couldn’t very well be seen leaving the Afshin’s house tomorrow morning.

But morning was a long way off.

“Are you cold?” he asked, eyes flickering between the blanket and her.

She shrugged. “I could be… if it means I can stay a bit longer.”

It was bold, it was senseless, it was inappropriate but he pulled her close to him, forming his body to her’s. Letting the heat of his touch send a tremor down her spine. She smiled contentedly and Dara felt enormously pleased with himself.

“Better?”

Her face flushed and she nodded. He’d never seen her so abashed. Dara tucked a curl behind her ear. “Rest and I’ll wake you before sunrise. I’ll see you returned before the muezzin,” he murmured, pulling the blanket from under her then over her shoulder.

Her eyes fluttered, lids heavy halfway between pleasure and exhaustion. She rolled on her side, back flush against his front. 

It was reflexive and he almost resisted, but Dara draped an arm over her waist, letting his chin rest in the crook of her shoulder.

Never could he recall feeling so… normal. So completely, utterly and simply happy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, I hope you enjoyed my second attempt at shameless smut


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dara and Nahri go on their second courting session

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Incoming serotonin

Dara felt the lingering eyes of the crowd on him and Nahri as they got closer to the Grand Bazaar. Behind them trailed two members of the Daeva Brigade that served as their chaperones for this outing. It had been only a week since she’d snuck into his home and already he was starved for more. 

At least with the eyes of Daevabad on them he wouldn’t be tempted to try anything. On the other hand, Nahri seemed to be taking immense pleasure in making it as difficult as possible for him to resist her. She would bump his shoulder, brush his hand and smile that wicked smile that brought heat to his cheeks. It made her all the more desirable when he realized that she wasn’t behaving this way to intentionally tempt him. These were simply the actions of a woman happy to be courting him.

“What about taking my arm? Would that be appropriate?” asked Nahri. At his hesitance she rolled her eyes. “Come now, our hands wouldn’t even have to touch.”

“Touching in public during our second courting might make it appear as we are moving too quickly. Some of our people would be scandalized.”

“Creator forbid they learn what happened in your house last week then,” she grinned.

Dara stifled a laugh, instead pursing his lips. “I don’t understand why you take such pleasure in toying with my nerves. Isn’t our close proximity in public enough for you?”

“You know,” Nahri said, a dramatically thoughtful expression playing on her features. “I distinctly recall during our tea that you said on our next courting that we would do things my way…”

“And here we are, in public, chaperoned and going to the Grand Bazaar. Everything you wished for.”

“What if I told you that doing things ‘my way’ meant I got to show off to all the gawking public that they should close they’re jaws because you’re all mine?” Nahri winked.

Dara felt his stomach flip. He never thought he’d be glad to hear someone refer to him as being theirs. Perhaps because he’d never been proud to be with anyone. To belong to anyone.

“Come on, Darayavahoush,” Nahri purred. “Don’t you want Daevabad to see that you've claimed the Banu Nahida?”

For someone so fiercely independent Nahri certainly seemed to like the idea of belonging to him and vice versa.

His stomach sank at the thought. It wasn’t necessarily a desire to belong to him, to a fiancé. It was a desire to belong somewhere. To someone. She’d never had anyone really. With the exception of that apothecary owner, Yaqub, who had really cared for Nahri? 

The mere thought of her aching heart had been enough to aid Dara in conquering his fear of public displays of affection. He feigned a grumpy smile and held his arm up, offering it to her.

With a satisfied smirk, she took it.

Dara felt a pleasant shiver go down his spine at the sensation. It wasn’t so much possessing her affection as it was that he was becoming  _ worthy  _ of it.

A few Daevas scowled as they walked down the declining hill. Dara recognized a select few as parents of the Daeva Brigade recruits. Still upset that their  _ “brave hero”  _ spat on reverence for The Scourge. Still furious at his ambivalence towards the shafit instead of vehement hatred. Dara did not regret facing his demons or confronting his past, but he did not care for the glares that his spontaneous act of “courage” that night had brought upon his Banu Nahida.

The onlookers that weren’t parents of his fellow recruits were older. Likely disapproving of an Afshin relationship with the Banu Nahida, or likelier still, their public display of affection. Such fury for something as innocent as taking his betrothed’s arm was almost comical in hindsight. Nahri had been right. It wasn’t exactly an act of debauchery to be touching your fiancé in public...

For the most part though, the inhabitants of the city whispered with secret smiles or offered friendly nods to the couple. 

He glanced at Nahri who, despite her former pride of accompanying him, seemed slightly abashed. No one else would be able to tell, but Dara knew her by now. He could tell she wasn’t in favor of their prying stares.

“The public eye can be stressful,” Dara mumbled. 

“I imagine you  _ would  _ have experience. How did you manage it? Before?”

“I don’t remember. I’m certainly having difficulty now,” Dara said mildly. “I’ve never been one for glory though.”

“I may have mentioned this already but don’t you have a  _ shrine _ ?”

Her voice was taunting but Dara winced all the same. “I never wanted a shrine.”

Nahri seemed surprised by the remark. Yes, he imagined she would be taken off guard that a military general leading a rebellion did not want the fame that came with it. He’d followed the Nahids not out of desire for admiration but out of a misplaced sense of duty. The bitterness must’ve been evident as Nahri’s fingers squeezed his forearm comfortingly.

“What  _ did  _ you want?” she asked.

_ A life. _

“Another time, perhaps?” Dara said, changing the subject. He wasn’t exactly ready to confess his innermost desires to the Banu Nahida yet. “Besides, we’ve arrived.”

The sprawling bazaar stood before them. People clamoring for wares and food at various stands. Women and men enjoying each other’s company while happily eating kebabs. Citizens haggling over prices and sellers gushing about their products.

“Banu Nahida!” a man called from a stand to their left. 

Before Dara could advise she ignore his call, Nahri was tugging him towards the eager man’s stand. The Afshin in Dara urged him to step in front of Nahri, raise a hand to the seller and admonish him for trying to solicit the attention of the Banu Nahida. But Nahri looked so hopeful, so excited that he let himself be dragged over. The man looked startled that she had answered, alarmed at the attention of the Afshin and the Banu Nahida. His stand was filled with a number of herbs, spices and teas.

“Do you have any hibiscus?” Nahri eyes, eyes combing the crates he had stacked before him.

“Y-yes!” 

Dara watched intently as the man fumbled behind his table for a moment before picking up a small wooden box filled with colorful looking petals.

He handed it to Nahri with trembling hands. “I’ll make you a small sample if you would like.”

Before Dara could object Nahri accepted the man’s offer, sniffing the contents of the box. She held it up to Dara’s nose. 

“It’s not what I’m used to but it does smell nice,” she remarked.

Trying to mask his anxiety that this was a potential attempt on the Banu Nahida’s life, Dara took a meager sniff of the box. Yes, it did smell very floral and a bit fruity. Regardless, his stomach turned at the thought of her having this stranger’s sample. For free? It wasn’t unusual for vendors to desire the attention and endorsement of nobility. It also wasn’t unusual for someone to make an attempt on a noble’s life with poison. 

The man held up a small, steaming cup of tea, offering it to Nahri. Before she could reach to accept it, Dara raised a hand.

“Drink it,” Dara said to the vendor, his voice firm.

The man’s brows raised. “Pardon?”

“You try it first. Then the Banu Nahida will,” he repeated. 

“Dara…” Nahri said under her breath.

He shot Nahri a look. “ _ Nahri. _ ”

The man took a sip of the tea, his eyes wide as Dara continued to stare him down. Nahri flushed furiously at her Afshin’s side. After a few moments of the man not dying in agony, Dara took the cup and handed it over to Nahri.

“Thanks,” she said flatly. She took a slow drink of the tea and nodded in approval. “I’ll have a box. How much?”

The man took the cup back and waved a hand. “Please, Banu Nahida. My gift to you.”

Nahri looked confused. Dara wondered if she would ever grow accustomed to her people’s admiration. To their inherent love of her. He imagined it was quite a change from being a suspected sorceress in an occupied city who had to steal to survive. 

“No, I insist on paying.”

“I’d be honored if you accepted the gesture,” the vendor said, pressing his palms together.

Nahri opened her mouth to protest but Dara cut her off, reaching with his free hand into his pocket and removing a plentiful sum of his earnings from the Daeva Brigade. In truth, he felt bad for giving the man such a difficult time and this was the only thing he could do to alleviate his guilt. He handed it over to the vendor trying to appear impassive. The man paused for a moment but then accepted, stammering his thanks to Dara who only nodded in response.

Nahri handed the box of tea to one of the chaperones and they continued through the bizarre.

“Nice of you to accommodate that poor vendor for terrorizing him over a free sample of tea,” Nahri smirked.

Dara arched a challenging brow. “You  _ do  _ realize that over half of the vendors here are terrified of you and would happily see you dead, correct?”

“He clearly wasn’t a threat, Afshin.”

“I can’t recall if it is you or I who was formerly a royal guard and has experience with attempts on the lives of Nahids…” Dara said with mock contemplation.

When he looked down at Nahri she was pursing her lips at him. “Do me a favor and try not to accost any more strangers today. You’re off duty.”

“I am never off duty when it comes to your safety,” Dara snorted as they continued weaving through the crowd. 

“I see. So if we were no longer in the company of our chaperones you would assume responsibility for my safety?” she asked, her pace quickening.

Dara thought the question was peculiar, he blinked at her. “Yes…” he said slowly.

“It sounds like we don’t really need them then,” she replied with a shrug.

“I suppose not…”

“Good.”

Nahri abruptly steered him towards a stand of scrolls nearly causing him to stumble. They paused there for only a few seconds before passing to the next stand where a man was selling skewered vegetable kebabs. She handed him a few coins, accepted a kebab and the vendor’s thanks then steered Dara back into the crowd. Dara looked back at the guards who were struggling to maneuver the crowd then to Nahri.

“We may need to slow down. Allow our chaperones a moment to catch up to us.”

“No,” she said simply.

Dara again blinked in surprise then complete confusion as Nahri handed the kebab to a Daeva woman who was with her husband. The woman, baffled at the gift, simply stared at it in her hand. Dara began to apologize on Nahri’s behalf but before he could speak Nahri jerked him back into the crowd. 

Dara groaned. “You are attempting to lose them.”

She scoffed. “Not  _ attempting.” _

Nahri yanked Dara towards an alley. He glanced over his shoulder to see the two guards interacting with the woman who Nahri handed her kebab, puzzled expressions on their faces. Dara looked at Nahri, ready to protest, but at the sight of the grin on her lips and the afternoon light that made her eyes dance, he was suddenly powerless. She wanted to lose their chaperones, did she? He could acquiesce this once. After all, they were doing things “her way” this time, were they not? Not to mention, she was his Banu Nahida. He could not deny her.

“They’ll know these alleyways well…” Dara muttered. “It is the first place they will begin to look.”

Nahri looked up at him with startled eyes - probably pleasantly surprised that he was trying to aid her. “Well, where do you recommend we go?” 

A knot formed in Dara’s stomach. He should be a good Afshin, a good  _ fiancé _ , and tell her to turn back. That they needed to return to their chaperones. It was safer that way. Far less likely to result in rumors.

But would a good fiancé not indulge her? Wouldn’t a good fiancé aim to please her? It wasn’t as if he would not be pleased to abscond with her. Dara was once again so concerned with duty and propriety that he was overlooking what it actually meant to earn her hand. Compromise.

“A place where they will not look and where if we are found it is unlikely we will be in any trouble,” he said. “This way.”

Dara slipped his arm out of Nahri’s and instead threaded his fingers with hers. She squeezed his hand and any doubt that he was doing “the right thing” vanished.

Dara was happily surprised that the guard’s entrance to the Grand Temple was still in use. He guided her up the back stairs to the upper levels that were thankfully deserted. It wasn’t exactly the most exciting activity, but they were - as Nahri had wished - alone. 

“We’re in the Grand Temple…” Nahri remarked.

“Yes…”

“And you did not bow to me  _ and  _ you’re touching me.”

Dara let go of her hand as though electrocuted. At Nahri’s stifled laugh, the tension in his shoulders eased. 

He smirked at her. “Even without an audience you demand I worship you?”

“I wouldn’t mind,” she shrugged. Her fingers slid back between his, her grip tightening just slightly. “So what do engaged couples talk about on their second outing? If the first one was for getting to know each other.”

Dara was suddenly reluctant that he’d never eavesdropped on the courtings he’d guarded. He vaguely recalled his aunts asking him for any details on the latest engaged couples. Did they squabble? Were they shameless flirts? Did they touch hands? Were there any stolen kisses? He’d scoffed at the request at the time, now however, Dara wished he’d have paid attention. 

“I suppose, if we’d gotten to know one another on the first outing and decided to pursue a second one, we’d likely spend it discussing what we would like out of a marriage,” Dara puzzled, as they continued to walk the upper level. “I imagine on the third we’d discuss wedding details.”

Nahri nodded contemplatively. Dara suddenly felt a wave of anxiety. What  _ did  _ he want out of a marriage? Did Nahri know? Had she already thought about this? He hadn’t prepared anything. Frankly, he hadn’t put any thought into what they’d talk about on this outing. Talking just came so easily with Nahri. There was always something to discuss, some banter to be had. It was effortless. 

“So what do you want out of a marriage, Banu Nahida?” Dara asked, hoping to buy himself some time to think. 

Perhaps he could just agree with her. Take whatever answers she had and say they were his own.

“I don’t know,” Nahri said simply. “I haven’t really thought about it.”

Dara exhaled with relief. “I must confess, neither have I.”

“I guess neither of us really thought we’d get married, huh?” Nahri said with a sheepish smile.

Dara stopped and leaned against the railing, looking down at the shrines and Daevas below. 

“I suppose not,” he nodded. “But didn’t you say that that Yaqub gentleman was always pressing you to get married?”

Nahri chuckled. “Yes, he was.”

“Well, what did he tell you to look for in a husband?”

“Someone with money,” she said simply.

Dara laughed. “Apologies to Yaqub.”

“Someone honorable.”

“Unfortunately not.”

“Someone nice.”

“I thought you said Yaqub would approve of me?” Dara smirked.

Nahri fixed him with a kind smile. He felt his stomach flutter again and cleared his throat.

“You do not give yourself enough credit, Afshin,” she said softly. “Besides, it doesn’t matter what Yaqub wanted for me. You asked what  _ I  _ wanted.”

“You said you did not know.”

“Well, I know now.”

He was hesitant, but Dara wanted to know. 

“Go on then, little thief.”

She leaned her elbows against the railing, staring ahead at nothing in particular. Dara awaited her answer with bated breath. He hoped that he could give her what she wanted in a husband. For all he said about this being an arrangement to get her out of marrying the emir, Dara wanted this to work. He wanted her not to be merely satisfied with him as her husband - he wanted her to  _ want  _ him. They were friends. That much was true. But despite his feigned ambivalence, his expressed desire to merely do things right, Dara wanted more. He had meant what he said in the palanquin before the royal dinner. He wanted to earn her heart. To earn her love.

He wanted it badly.

“I suppose I want someone who I can laugh with. Someone who doesn’t want me to change,” she said, her voice quiet.

Dara waited for her to continue but she said nothing more. That was truly all she wanted. Someone who could make her smile. Someone who liked who she was. Well he could certainly be both of those things for her. That was not an issue. He made her laugh, did he not? And as for “changing” her, what was there to change? Who was he, the former Scourge of Qi-zi to demand change from anyone, for that matter?

The words left Dara’s lips before he could stop himself, “There is nothing to change.”

Nahri gave him a teasing smile. “Oh, no? Did you forget that I’m a liar and a thief?”

“I would say that those are occupational hazards as a merchant of delicate tasks,” the Afshin muttered. His expression became softer. “And I would not fault you for doing whatever you could to survive… not that I am in any position to.”

There was a pause. He heard Nahri let out a long, contented sigh and then, to his surprise, her head fell on his shoulder. Part of him said to step away, to admonish this breach of propriety. But another part of him begged her to stay. Pleaded with time for this moment to linger. 

“What about you?” she asked.

“Hm?”

“Well, what do you want in a wife, Darayavahoush?”

He had frittered away his stolen time to drink in the moment instead of preparing something to say. 

_ Fool. _

What could he say? What could he say that was worthy of Nahri? To simply say what he wanted in a wife was “her” was too little. So what was it about her that made her so desirable to him? What was it about this shafit thief that had sunk its hooks in his heart and showed no signs of relinquishing its hold? 

Dara spoke slowly, deliberately, trying to piece his thoughts into a discernible answer. “I’ve never had the opportunity to consider the question until recent events transpired. I don’t deserve to ‘want’ anything so… I can’t give you that answer, little thief.”

“I see.”

She didn’t sound disappointed, but she sounded unsatisfied. He couldn’t blame her. She’d given Dara criteria he already met - reinforced his confidence in her affections for him. What had he given her? Nothing more than a shrug. It wouldn’t do.

“Nahri,” Dara said, his own head tilting onto hers.

“Mmhm?”

“I may not have the exact words and I may not have earned the right to make demands… but I suppose, in the simplest of terms, I would look for someone brave enough to know me.”

Nahri was quiet, Dara’s heart pounded against his ribs. He suddenly had the urge to jerk away from her and run. Why, he wasn’t sure. It wasn’t exactly a stunning admission. 

It was because he was vulnerable. He was open. He was striding in broad daylight into enemy territory wearing a giant target.

“It doesn’t take bravery to know you, Afshin,” Nahri said quietly.

“What does it take, Banu Nahida?”

Nahri stifled a laugh. “An immeasurable amount of patience.”

While the tension had certainly lessened and Dara felt much less like a man suspended over a bottomless chasm, silence still transpired. This silence was not bad. It was familiar. They enjoyed it often. They listened to the quiet hum of the Daeva visiting the Grand Temple beneath them and watched as the shadows stretched longer across the floors. At one point Kartir strode through the lobby and Dara could have sworn he’d glimpsed them. The priest said nothing if he did. Only continued on with his duties.

“I didn’t forget you know. You’re not off the hook,” Nahri said eventually.

Dara lifted his head off of hers. She gave him a sly smile that the Afshin couldn’t help but mirror. Her smiles, her laughter, they were infectious.

“And what have you not forgotten?” Dara pried.

“I asked what you wanted in your old life and you said ‘another time.’ I’ll come to collect on that.”

“I imagine that you will,” he smirked. “Perhaps on our third outing?” 

“Perhaps,” Nahri shrugged, her tone nonchalant. “Or perhaps the next time I sneak over to your home.”

“That’s entirely inappropriate, Banu Nahida. You should not be sneaking over to your betrothed’s home.”

Nahri groaned, setting her jaw and rolling her eyes. The corner of Dara’s lip twitched in amusement. “Everyone knows that it is the Afshin’s duty to sneak to his betrothed Nahid, not the other way around.”

Her face broke into that contagious smile. Dara’s eyes were instantly drawn to her lips. He could vividly recall them touching his own. The scent of her skin close to his. Her breath hot on his face. When he met her eyes again, he saw that she also seemed to be studying his lips. Her gaze flickered back to his eyes.

His hand itched to touch her and he waited with bated breath for any indication that she felt the same.

Nahri took a single step closer to Dara, closing the already small gap between them. He gave in to the urges pulling at his chest, letting his fingers gently cup the back of her head.

And only when she inclined her head, eyes still trained on Dara’s lips, did he lean in to kiss her.

It was a different kiss than when she’d snuck to his home. It was a different kiss than when they’d been in the cave. It wasn’t a kiss to alleviate their desire - though Dara certainly was tempted to find a more private location for them. 

This kiss felt more like an expression for the overwhelming need he felt to be close to her.

Her hands pressed against his chest, fingers clutching on the fabric of his shirt. He kissed her harder in response. Not so much out of a need to be closer now, but more so out of a sense of gratitude. He was astounded that of all the men in Daevabad, Nahri had chosen him. He was thankful for it. There were no words to express his appreciation for such an honor.

He felt Nahri’s lips spread in a smile against him and when he pulled away she was beaming, looking quite satisfied with herself. 

Dara smirked. “Don’t look so pleased with yourself, Nahri. You merely are taking advantage of my weakness for Nahids.”

“And if I am?” she countered, lifting a brow. “A good con artist knows her mark’s weaknesses.”

“And you call  _ me  _ arrogant…”

Eventually the guards arrived at the Grand Temple. Dara and Nahri made a halfhearted attempt at an apology for getting separated. Their chaperones seemed more relieved than angry and Dara assured them that no one would learn of this event. He could tell that they seemed slightly affronted but they didn’t argue. 

At the palace gates the two exchanged goodbyes.

“Should I keep my garden doors unlocked tonight?” Nahri asked hopefully.

Again a war waged within Dara between “doing things right” and being “a good fiancé.” He was defenseless against those sparkling eyes. 

Dara smiled wryly. “Yes, I should think so.” 

She grinned triumphantly. 

Dara scoffed in response, rolling his eyes. “So smug,” he muttered. He took her hand, lifting her knuckles to her lips. “Until next time, Banu Nahida.”

“I suppose this is the affection I can expect from you in public,” Nahri remarked, glancing around at their onlookers. “Until next time, indeed.”

Dara watched Nahri ascend the palace steps till she was out of his sight. He could still feel her lips on his. He prayed tonight would arrive swiftly. He prayed he could steal another kiss.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dara receives some guidance from Muntadhir

“Do you wish to try again, emir?” Dara drawled, arching a brow at Muntadhir.

The prince narrowed his eyes studying the target from their first round of archery. Dara’s red tipped arrows struck the target squarely in the head and chest with his every shot. Muntadhir’s green tipped arrows landed, more often than not, in the stomach of the dummy - though he’d managed to strike it once in the head.

Muntadhir pursed his lips and faced the smug looking Afshin. “You’re certain you haven’t made use of your slave magic?”

Dara flinched at the words but squared his shoulders in response. The emir’s candor was taking some getting used to. This was Dara’s second time serving as his bodyguard so he figured he would grow numb to Muntadhir over time, but the casual discussion of his time as a slave would always make him uneasy. There was no getting over that hurdle. Not any time soon.

“I am certain, emir,” Dara finally said. He offered Muntadhir a shrug. “We can go again if you’d like. You have no other appointments today to my knowledge.”

“Eager to spend more quality time with me, Afshin?”

Dara’s lip quirked up. “Eager to keep you occupied so that you speak less.”

The emir laughed. Dara envied the man. Muntadhir carried a heavy load, that was obvious to Dara - but he carried it well. With ease. With a smile. There was no doubting that deeper down there was a more solemn emir. The one who buried his troubles in wine and dancers. Coping mechanisms that Dara could not frown upon as they seemed to work splendidly.

“Alright, Darayavahoush, best two of three then,” Muntadhir said, raising his bow. “And no cheating.”

Dara shook his head. “Victory is meaningless if I cheat to obtain it… not that there is need when challenging you.”

The emir loosed an arrow that sunk into the target’s belly. He looked to the Afshin with a grimace. “My instructors said I was a proud pupil…”

“Ya, I’m certain that had  _ nothing _ to do with the fact your baba could have their heads lopped off,” snorted Dara quickly firing an arrow into the dummy’s face. “Your turn, emir.”

“Perhaps I am toying with you. Did you think of that, Darayavahoush?” the emir said slyly. He let his next arrow fly. It landed just beside Dara’s in the head of the dummy. He gave the Afshin a triumphant look.

Dara rolled his eyes. “That was luck. You were bound to hit the most difficult part of the target at least one of the ten times you shot.”

“Are you discounting my victory, Afshin?”

Dara chuckled involuntarily and shot another arrow into the lungs of the dummy. He had to admit, teasing the emir was amusing. Muntadhir was certainly not without charm. He knew how to work people. Including Dara. He wasn’t too kind or flattering - he was just snarky enough to be entertaining. Muntadhir had found his footing dancing the line of amusing drinking companion and ancestral enemy. Not too chummy, but not hostile.

The two carried on shooting. Dara was still winning.

Muntadhir paused, turning to the Afshin. “What will be your prize? Should you defeat me?”

“ _ Should  _ I defeat you?” Dara scoffed, leveling his next arrow and letting it strike the target in the head again.

“What will it be, Afshin?”

He hadn’t really thought about it. Muntadhir’s prize was being allowed to offer Dara some advice on courting Nahri - and while the Afshin had balked at the concept before, he wasn’t necessarily disinclined to accept the offer now. At the time it had sounded foolish and Dara was always rather reluctant to receive assistance, but after taking Nahri out twice, it was becoming rather evident that the Afshin was lacking in knowledge of courting. Perhaps he should’ve thought of this before so thoroughly defeating the emir. It would have saved him the shame of asking for Muntadhir’s guidance if only humiliating him for losing at archery to a Qahtani brat.

Dara cleared his throat. “Well, you do not strike me as the type to let things go, emir. So I suppose I’ll accept your advice regardless of if I win or lose.”

Muntadhir beamed at the Afshin pointing an arrow at him. “So you  _ do  _ seek my counsel.”

With a disgruntled noise, Dara pushed the arrow out of his face and gestured back to the target. The emir’s smile did not falter. Dara wondered how many games the emir played with his subjects.

“I  _ seek _ to put an end to our conversations,” the Afshin grinned.

“I don’t think you dislike me as much as you pretend to though, Darayavahoush,” Muntadhir said sagely. “In fact, I’d go as far as to say you find me tolerable.”

“I’ve been found out,” Dara deadpanned.

He again gestured impatiently to the target prompting the emir to shoot. The edge of Muntadhir’s lip tilted up. He held out his bow prompting one of the attendants to take it back. Dara rolled his eyes, slinging his own bow over his back. How quickly the emir lost interest in things. 

Dara glanced at the target with their mingled arrows.  _ Especially when they aren’t going his way…  _

The prince wasn’t a poor shot but he certainly hadn’t been winning against the fourteen hundred year old warrior.

“So what is your advice, emir?” Dara asked, fixing the prince with an expectant look.

Muntadhir shrugged. “I cannot think on an empty stomach.”

“You’ve just ate,” sighed Dara. “Have you forgotten not an hour ago when you accosted me in between mouthfuls of fruit?”

“Accosted you?” Muntadhir laughed. “I was attempting to have a conversation. Come, let’s have a drink.”

“I’m on duty,” Dara countered, his eyes sweeping the onlooking servants.

Muntadhir headed towards the grounds’ exit with a leisurely stride. “Then we’ll drink in private. Come along, Afshin.”

The walk up to Muntadhir’s apartments was surprisingly quiet, only the sound of the emir’s listless humming filled the corridors. They passed the infirmary where Dara’s eyes lingered on the door knowing that just on the other side his fiancée was likely hard at work.

_ My fiancée… _

The Afshin blinked at the words that had yet to feel quite real. The idea of him courting nobility still seemed foreign even after so many weeks had passed. When he’d absconded with the Cairene conwoman he never imagined she would be his wife.

Dara’s thoughts were disturbed as they arrived at the doors to the emir’s quarters - the guards on either side straightened. Muntadhir shoved both doors open grandly and Dara followed, pursing his lips. The emir glanced over his shoulder at the Afshin, laughing at his discontented expression. 

“Concerned that we’ll be the talk of royal scandal, Darayavahoush?”

“Yes,” Dara answered curtly.

Muntadhir snorted crossing to his bar and letting his fingers trail the myriad of liquor filled bottles. “What would you like, Afshin?”

“I’m capable of conjuring whatever drink I wish. There’s no need to waste your stores on-“

“So considerate,” Muntadhir said with mock gratitude. 

Dara bristled.

“I’ll surprise you, shall I?” the emir smiled. 

He poured two glasses of a very dark drink and Dara wrinkled his nose as he recognized it to be grape wine - too bitter for his taste. 

“Scowl all you wish, Afshin. It will numb the sensation of being in my presence,” he said, extending the glass to Dara.

The corners of Dara’s lips turned down in approval at the suggestion. He accepted the cup, doing his best to ignore the smell and took a swig. Yes, bitter and strong. Nothing notable but nothing exactly disgusting.

He went to take another sip and paused. “You will not speak of this to your… subjects or companions?”

“Oh, Darayavahoush, who on earth would suspect the emir to lie with both women  _ and _ men? Such an idea in royalty is unheard of. Especially with the company I keep so unabashedly.”

Dara conceded by taking another drink. “It was not uncommon in my time for a person to favor both genders.”

“But likely the height of scandal, no doubt,” Muntadhir exhaled, taking a seat on his lavish bed. 

“Hardly,” Dara snorted. “In my time people weren’t so narrow minded about… well, about-“

“Debauchery?” supplied Muntadhir.

Dara found himself smiling ever so slightly. “Yes, if you would like to refer to it so crudely.”

Muntadhir’s expression became thoughtful as he examined the contents of his glass. “Who would’ve known the Afshin to be so open minded about love.”

“Love is hardly a baffling concept,” Dara blurted. He took a quick sip of his drink, suddenly very uncomfortable with the vulnerable turn this conversation had taken. “Neither is debauchery.”

“Oh?” Muntadhir said with a challenging glimmer in his eyes. “Then why has the self-proclaimed expert in love and debauchery sought me out for advice?”

“I never declared myself an expert. It hardly takes a genius to recognize carnal pleasure has no limits.”

Muntadhir blanched at the phrasing and threw back the rest of his drink.

“It is the matter of courting a woman that I require… your assistance with,” Dara admitted through gritted teeth.

The emir beamed and patted the empty space beside him on the bed. Dara guffawed at the suggestion.

“I prefer to stand when I’m on duty. And I refuse to sit on a Qahtani’s bed.”

Muntadhir shrugged and settled back leisurely on the pillows. “Suit yourself.” He folded his fingers across his chest, staring up at the ceiling. “The Banu Nahida, hm… What I have made of her is that she is stubborn.”

“Strong-willed,” Dara corrected. At the emir’s amused expression he continued. “As any Banu Nahida should be.”

“She is clever, very pragmatic and a bit more emotional that she cares to let on…”

Dara once again could not stop himself. “She is emotional but it is hardly a bad thing.”

“I didn’t say it was,” smirked Muntadhir. “You are very quick to defend her. Very protective.”

Dara nearly laughed into his drink. “I am her Afshin.”

“ _ And _ her fiancé,” the emir added. “Do not forget that. It’s no doubt what she values more than a protector.”

“You sound sure of yourself…”

“Well, she strikes me as the type who is very good at taking care of herself. Pragmatic and clever, as I said. You must remember that, Dara.”

Dara flinched before casting a stern look at Muntadhir. It was good advice.

“Thank you but  _ ‘Afshin’ _ , will serve just fine. Or Darayavahoush, if you must.”

He quickly regretted the admission of his distaste for the emir calling him by his common name. No doubt he would do it all the more now. Dara rocked on his heels, taking a gulp of his wine and attempted to appear nonchalant. 

“What does the Banu Nahida enjoy?” Muntadhir asked.

“She enjoys her independence. Her privacy. Unnerving me.”

“Alright, but does she have any hobbies?”

Dara recalled their conversations, attempting to pluck any hobbies she may have mentioned from his memories. Ones that didn’t involve deception or theft. She liked visiting cafes. She enjoyed tea. She enjoyed studying under the apothecary owner in Cairo. She liked walks. She hated horseback riding. She didn’t care for knife throwing. She liked talking into the night about things she had learned in her practice and how eager she was to advance. 

But there was nothing he would’ve deemed a hobby really. Not in the most traditional sense of the word. Not painting or dancing or singing. 

Dara exhaled. “She enjoys simple things like long walks and a good cafe. She likes to practice medicine. She takes pleasure in divulging all the things she has learned…” Realization dawned on Dara and it was all he could do to maintain a measured tone when speaking to the emir. “Your Little Zaydi, he has been teaching her to read, has he not?”

“Yes, I recall hearing something to that effect…”

Dara braced himself for any teasing remarks his question may evoke. “Would it be the act of a good fiancé to supply her with… some books? Or scrolls? As courting gestures?”

Muntadhir grinned and Dara was reminded distinctly of a cat that had trapped its prey. He stiffened before the emir and cocked a brow, prompting him to speak up.

“No two people are the same, Darayavahoush. A good book to Nahri may prove as romantic of a gesture as a rose.”

Dara’s stomach flipped. He felt the urge to leave the emir and take to the Grand Bazaar to buy as many books and scrolls as he could carry. The epiphany had him eager to see a smile light Nahri’s face. To provide her with some sort of joy.

But there was still the matter of courting. A gift was different. Dara’s expression fell and Muntadhir must’ve taken notice as he continued, his tone listless.

“In my experience, there is no substitute for a good, shared memory. Visiting a tavern where you first exchanged glances or dancing to a song from a special evening. It shows that you value every moment, that you value  _ her.  _ You should speak to the memory in case she does not-“

“That will do,” Dara said, raising a hand. 

Though he refused to let it show on his face, Dara was thoroughly satisfied with the emir’s assistance. 

Yes, he knew exactly what to do for their third courting now.

Muntadhir laughed drowsily. “You are not what I expected, Afshin. Especially after all Jamshid had told me about you.  _ Before  _ your resurrection at least.”

Dara groaned quietly and crossed to the emir’s bar, setting down his now empty glass and folding his arms across his chest. “So far every tale I’ve been told of myself has been mangled.”

“I take it that you have no interest in learning of my favorite bits of your legend?”

“I never said that,” Dara smirked. “They’ve all proved very amusing thus far.”

Muntadhir threaded his fingers behind his neck, still gazing up at the ceiling. “I didn’t much care for the stories of your supposed heroics or the outlandish tales of your military expertise. Those things have never excited me,” Muntadhir said with a flippant wave of his hand. “But Jamshid mentioned one story that I hadn’t been told yet - not by my teachers or any Daeva Nobles that sang The Scourge’s praises.”

Dara winced but allowed the emir to continue. There was a wicked glint in his eye that Dara didn’t quite care for. 

“A story that involved you seducing an entire harem’s worth of women into your bed.”

Dara’s eyes widened - his cheeks burned. Smoke curled from under his collar. “Come again?”

Muntadhir laughed. “I take it the rumors of your excellence in bed are far fetched then?”

Dara only blinked, trying to gather himself.

“That’s a shame. It was the only part of your legend I admired,” the emir mused. “Are you certain nothing of the sort happened?”

Dara fixed Muntadhir with a knowing look. He snickered in response.

“Such a shame indeed,” he said wistfully. “To uncover how dull you actually are.”

“Yes, overwhelmingly so,” Dara replied as he kicked off the bar. “I’ll be outside. Your guidance was appreciated.”

Muntadhir frowned at Dara. “You’re leaving me so soon?”

“I’ve spent the entire day in your company and Captain Pramukh will return shortly,” Dara said, snapping his fingers. The doors of Muntadhir’s quarters opened for him. “You’ll be safe without my  _ dull  _ company, I have no doubt.”

As the doors shut behind Dara, he waved away the two guards. He could keep watch on his own. 

Without any protestations, only glowers, the guards left. Dara concentrated on one of the torches lining the walls of the corridor, sending a fiery ember to flick one of the guard’s bare shoulders. The man briefly jumped in alarm only to brush off his arm in irritation. Dara smiled to himself at the small victory.

His feet itched to carry him to the infirmary. Dara planned to surprise his fiancée by walking her to her quarters at the end of her shift. The time could not come quick enough. Dara had to force himself to stop searching the halls for any sign of Jamshid. As soon as he arrived, Dara could leave. 

Eventually a very harried looking Jamshid appeared. “I am late. I know.”

Dara hadn’t noticed really. He shrugged his shoulders. “Truthfully, I had not noticed.”

Jamshid’s eyes flickered to Muntadhir’s door. He seemed… impatient. Dara’s head tilted curiously.

“The emir is fine, I assure you,” he said. Dara gave the Captain’s shoulder a gentle push. “I was able to resist damaging that pretty face of his.”

Jamshid’s cheeks flushed, he rocked on his heels, eyes flickering between the door and Dara. 

“Eager to get him alone?” Dara asked with a smirk. “The emir seems unconcerned with any rumors spreading regarding who he takes to his bedroom.”

The remark, while intended to be a jest on Dara’s part, seemed to make Jamshid blush further. The Captain let out a wary attempt at a laugh and Dara found his interest suddenly piqued. 

He shouldn’t have. He  _ really _ shouldn’t have but he did. He allowed himself to take a glance at Jamshid’s thoughts. A power he didn’t often allow himself to use. Partly out of respect for privacy but also because he didn’t care to know what others thought - especially at the sight of Dara.

But what Jamshid thought of was hardly an affront. 

He was eager to see Muntadhir and a vague memory swirled in his mind of whispers in the shadows, touches exchanged in the dark, secret kisses stolen when alone with the emir. Promises of protection, safety and compassion. High hopes that there was more for them. Unwavering loyalty and love for one another.

When Dara refocused on the present, he found Jamshid was staring at him both panicked and restless. The corner of Dara’s lip hitched up involuntarily. He wasn’t certain what he should say. It was certainly a disgrace that a Captain of the Daeva brigade would lay with a Qahtani, but judging by Muntadhir’s talk of ‘scandal’ it wasn’t their tribes that were cause for concern. 

“Don’t look so troubled, Captain Pramukh. It was only a jest,” Dara said.

Jamshid offered an uneasy smile.

“I’m off to collect the Banu Nahida, but we should go riding soon. I must confess that I miss your company.”

“I would be glad to,” stammered Jamshid. He seemed slightly relieved.

Dara offered a nod before starting towards the infirmary. He smiled at the sound of Muntadhir’s door opening. 

_ “Ah, Pramukh!” _

_ “Creator, you’re drunk already…”  _

  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, it’s true. In the early days of civilization to be heterosexual or attracted to only one gender was seen as narrow minded.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dara finally sleeps in his quarters at the palace and receives a visit from his fiance’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: Trigger warning for references to sexual assault - not necessarily graphic
> 
> This will likely be the only chapter I will write that will handle such mature themes
> 
> There is a lovely palette cleanser towards the end though

Dara did not care for the palace quarters provided for him by Ghassan. Not because they were too lavish or not because they were too quaint. He couldn’t quite define what exactly was so off putting about them, but he knew he’d much rather be at his humble home in the Daeva quarter.

At least there was the comfort that Nahri was only a short walk away. Should there be any sign of danger he would be at her side in a heartbeat. That was the solitary benefit he could think of.

Time could not pass quickly enough. He had his third outing scheduled with Nahri in two days' time and was eager to use the emir’s advice. Tomorrow Dara planned to visit the Grand Bazaar and purchase Nahri scrolls and books. He imagined they’d be of the medical variety, but he knew she longed to know more of her ancestors. Perhaps there was a Daeva bookseller that may have some texts on the Nahids and their bloodline. He would have to check.

Dara tried not to picture her face when she received his gifts. He didn’t want to get his hopes up to see that bashful smile. Those flushing cheeks. The crinkle of her eyes. Creator, he could not believe that she was his to marry. With every day that passed he felt his compassion for her swell. He found it hard to believe there was another four and a half years left for the expansion he felt in his chest at the sight of her. A cautious part of him dared to wonder if this was love. He had known he cared for Nahri. It was inevitable that he would fall madly in love with her as a result. As well as Dara knew this, he had not been prepared for the flip in his stomach at the mention of her name. For the flutter of his heart when she smiled at him. For the way his breath caught in his throat when she walked into a room.

Yes, this was love. But he could hardly bring himself to think of the word, much less confess it. Especially when he’d yet to earn her reciprocation.

At least he didn’t think he had. Yes, Nahri always beamed when she saw him. Yes, she flushed at every word he spoke. Yes, she confided in him easily. But that didn’t mean she was yet capable of falling in love with Dara. He was a monster, after all. He was not worthy of such compassion.

And even if he was, hadn’t he always found the idea of love to be far fetched? There was attraction, no doubt. There was pleasure and lust and caring. Love, however, that was a fool’s game, was it not?

No, that was a lie he told himself. A way to cope with the sad fact that was love was not an emotion anyone would ever have for him. He may be the dashing warrior of legends but that mattered not when compared to his crimes. 

Dara exhaled, his fingers threaded behind the nape of his neck as he stared up at the ceiling from his bed.

“Tamima,” he said to the ghost of a child. “Why have I allowed myself to live this lie? The one that I can be worthy of love?”

_ “Because deep down, Daru, you know you are not a lost cause. You are not hopeless. You are not lost to your past.” _

He laughed mirthlessly. “I cannot ever earn her affection. No amount of good deeds will make up for what I have done. At least not before she is dead.”

_ “Then you make a start, brother. That is all that you can do. And besides, could you do this to her now? Deny her? Does she deserve to be punished for your crimes? Doomed to the life of a prisoner under Qahtani rule?” _

“I suppose she does not,” Dara muttered. “But this act is hardly selfless.”

_ “What need have you for this act to be completely selfless, Dara? Is that necessary?” _

“Not exactly. But it would make me feel better…”

_ “I do wish you’d stop equating misery with redemption.” _

“You were not so wise when we last met, sister,” Dara said wistfully. “When did you grow up to offer such sage advice?”

It was true. In his rare and private conversations with the shadow of his sister she was always very wise. Very serious. Not at all the girl with the makeshift bow that clung to his waist.

Perhaps this was who Tamima would have become had she been given the chance to grow old. A woman wise beyond her years. She’d always been more mature than others her age. 

“You’ve been much help, Tamima. Now it is time to rest.”

_ “As if you are capable of sleeping now…” _

“My demons will soon be at bay. Then I will sleep.”

_ “Not if you are interrupted.” _

Immediately a knock came from his door. Dara sat upright and slid off the bed in one fluid motion. He grabbed his bow from beside his nightstand and notched an arrow, quietly crossing to the door.

“I can see the lantern light beneath the door, Dara. I know you’re awake.”

Nahri.

Without considering this was some sort of trap or that she may be accompanied, Dara lowered his bow and pulled open the door. Nahri stood in the doorway, alone and wrapped tightly in a shawl. Her eyes raked the sight of Dara’s bare chest. His only remaining clothing was a pair of loose trousers.

“I see you’ve gotten all dressed up for me,” she said, the corner of her lip quirking up. “May I enter?”

Though it was scarcely shown, Dara always found himself vaguely self conscious of his appearance. There were always those lingering suspicions of just how many times his body had been used by another. Times he couldn’t recall but knew were there. He was mostly able to shove such thoughts to the back of his mind, but still they stayed. Looming over him.

Dara shut the door behind Nahri and watched as she took in the sight of his bare bones bedroom. 

“This is very… tidy.”

_ This is inappropriate. Make her leave. You are her Afshin. You should protect her. _

Before he could bring himself to admonish Nahri, Muntadhir’s words came to mind:

_ “And her fiancé. Don’t forget that. It’s no doubt what she values more than a protector.” _

Dara inhaled through his nose and crossed to the bed, taking a seat. He forced himself to make conversation. To distract himself from the anxiety that burned in his chest, the prickles of self consciousness that made the hairs stand up on the back of his neck. 

“This is my first night in these quarters. I’ve hardly had time to decorate,” he muttered.

“You forget I’ve seen your home. It is much the same.”

Dara grimaced. “You’ll find having a home is very new to me. I’ve never been able to practice my ‘finishing touches.’”

Nahri laughed softly and Dara felt a small weight lifted from his shoulders. He took special pride in making her smile. 

“To what do I owe this visit at such a late hour?”

“Oh, please. You were already awake,” Nahri scoffed, waving a hand. 

“You’ve not answered the question, Banu Nahida.”

She smiled, eyes glinting with mischief. “Because after we had supper in my quarters and you left, I found that I was still lacking in your company.”

“We have an outing in just two days. This could not wait?” 

Nahri’s hand was on his chest, her fingers cool against his scalding skin. Typically he would’ve threaded his fingers in her mane of curls - pulled her face to his. But that familiar sensation, the one that coiled deep in his belly was lacking. He felt as though he was almost in a trance. Despite a subtle instinct that told him ‘no,’ Dara cupped the nape of her neck and pressed his lips to hers.

Whatever this apprehension was, it couldn’t last long. There was no way that it could survive Nahri’s embrace. 

She kissed him back, hungrily and Dara knew this was the part where his excitement piqued. Where his hands would begin to tremble in anticipation, unable to move fast enough.

But no.

His movements were stiff, rehearsed. Almost disinterested. 

Nahri must not have noticed as she tossed aside her shawl and began to pull off her nightgown. 

Dara swallowed trying to bring himself out of this state. This was Nahri. The woman who had stolen his heart. The woman he admired. Who he secretly wished would sneak into his home and quarters every night. 

So why did he not feel that buzz of attraction? What were beads of ash forming on the back of his neck even though they’d hardly begun? Why did his throat hurt? Why did his eyes sting?

None of this must have been evident as Nahri climbed onto his lap, straddling his waist. 

Well, if it wasn’t evident, then it must be fine to continue. Whatever these feelings were would wear off.

But then Nahri’s hands ran down his bare arms, stopping at his wrists and guiding his fingers to her waist. She reached for the waistband of his trousers and a tremor went down his spine. His ring felt as though it were tightening around his finger. He choked on his own breath and his ears were ringing.

But somehow, clear as a bell he heard a woman’s voice. Then another woman’s voice. Then a man’s. Then a cacophony spread through time - weaving through centuries. Their accents and languages varied. Their commands were so different but all the same. It was as torturous as laying waste to a city. As destroying homes. Except it was happening to him, not because of him. It was happening over and over again.

His vision was blurred as his other senses were overwhelmed. He was no longer in Daevabad. He was everywhere else. He felt rigid at the shadow of a touch on his shoulders, gripping him in place. A rocking against his hips that he was unable to stop. Tugging of his hair. A slap to the face. A firm grip. A gentle tug. Sweet nothings in his ear. Adamant commands in a harsh whisper against his neck.

Refusal clawing at his throat. The words unwilling to leave his lips. A strangled cry building deep his chest that he was unable to release. 

_ “Dara.” _

The ringing subsided. The feeling came back to his limbs. His vision was slowly returning but he had the strength now. He could deny them. Their time controlling him was spent. 

He scrambled back from their hold, more intent on escaping than causing them pain. No, that would be next. 

When his vision finally cleared, Dara felt as though he’d been slapped in the face. The breath was stolen from whatever passed for his lungs.

He was in his quarters. There was no one here but Nahri. Nahri who was on the floor, staring up at him wide eyed. Alarmed.

Creator, had he hurt her?

_ You fool. _

“N-Nahri, I am so sorry…” he said, voice hardly anything more than a whisper. “I’m… are you hurt?”

Her brows knitted together in concern. She grabbed her nightgown off the floor, shaking her head.

“No, Dara,” she said, unsteadily rising to her feet. “You moved and I fell but no, I’m not hurt.”

Dara nodded, unable to form words. His throat felt thick, his face was warm with tears evaporating and leaving sticking streaks on his cheeks. He covered his mouth with his hand trying to bite back whatever sounds threatened to escape.

“Are  _ you  _ hurt?” Nahri asked quietly - her voice gentle.

He didn’t know. Was he? There was no pain, but Dara felt a distinct pounding in his head and there was that pressure rising up his throat that he couldn’t swallow. At his lack of response, Nahri took a step towards him and for some reason he took a step away.

“I’m sorry,” Dara said, instinctively. 

“That’s alright.” Nahri gestured to the bed and took a seat. “I was going to ask you to sit. Will you sit by me?”

Dara was suddenly very aware of the leaden feeling of his legs. How his knees felt ready to buckle. Again, he only nodded, following her to the bed and taking a seat at her side. Dara couldn’t bring himself to meet her eyes, so he instead stared straight ahead. He was grateful that she made no move to touch him. He feared that the feeling of anything upon his skin would send him reeling again.

“You’re smoking… a lot,” Nahri commented. “Would you like me to get you a shirt or a jacket or-“

“Yes,” Dara said.

Nahri stood wordlessly and crossed to the small wardrobe on the other side of the room. In a moment she was sitting beside him again, a jacket outstretched to him in her hands. He hadn’t realized his fingers were still shaking until he accepted the clothing and attempted to put it on. It took a few tries but he eventually slid his arms through and settled it upon his shoulders.

“You are not injured?” Dara said, his voice measured.

“I’m a Nahid. A tumble is hardly an injury.” Her voice had a lightness to it that Dara could register as an attempt at a joke. 

He forced the corner of his lip to tilt upwards but knew the attempt at a smile didn’t meet his eyes. He was trying to be strong. His reeling mind grasped for a joke, a jest, something to put her at ease. To put an end to her worrying over him. A monster plagued by monsters. A man unworthy of sympathy. These were the cost of his crimes. He must live with them.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Nahri asked.

How could she sound so calm?

What had she asked him?

“We don’t have to,” she conceded. “Do you want me to go?”

Creator, no. The last thing he wanted was to be alone. He grasped her hand and shook his head.

“I’ll stay then. Why don’t you lie down?”

His body moved without him thinking, shifting to lie on his back. Nahri cautiously lowered herself onto her elbow to lay beside him.

“I don’t know what happened,” Dara murmured, eyes skyward. He winced. “My head hurts.”

Nahri frowned. “Here. Let me.”

Her fingers gently pressed his temple. 

“Trying to heal a dead man again,” Dara said with a weak smile.

Nahri returned his wary grin. “I managed it well the first time.” 

A pause. The pounding in Dara’s head ceased, slowly fading until it was gone.

He cleared the grit from his throat. “How did you do that?”

“I don’t know,” Nahri said thoughtfully. “Intent. I can see a shadow or a spot if I try and then I just touch it and try to make it go away.”

“So you’re saying that being one of the greatest healers known to daeva is quite easy?”

She reclined back onto her elbow with a sheepish smile. “You don’t have to do that.”

“Do what?”

He knew what.

“Try to fix everything by making me smile.”

Dara suddenly felt very embarrassed. He brought himself to meet her eyes finally. They were deep and wistful and worried.

“I’m effortlessly humorous, Banu Nahida. It only makes sense to put it to practical use.”

“Dara.”

Her tone was tender but firm. He knew Nahri was right. Shoving down these dark thoughts wouldn’t mend his heart. It wouldn’t banish the demons. It wouldn’t make him safe.

_ You do not deserve safety. You are a monster. Take your punishment. It is earned. _

“Like I said, you don’t have to talk about it,” Nahri said, her voice a welcome sound. “But you can. It could help.”

Suleiman’s eye, he would give anything to make it stop. Anything to keep his pain out of their bed. She deserved better than him and his ghosts.

But where to begin? A thousand years of foggy abuse was too much to sift through. Dara took a deep breath, trying to suck some courage into his lungs.

“My memories are not clear from my time as a slave… but they are there-“

He heard Nahri gasp ever so softly beside him. He closed his eyes briefly. She was horrified. That was fine. So was he.

“You know your human legends of djinn. Enslaved beings of fire bound to a master,” Dara said, his voice nearly breaking. “And you told me what Zaynab had said about me.”

“That you were handsome - that you were meant to be appealing.” Nahri sounded pained, exhausted even. “I think I see now.”

There it was again. The thickness in his throat. The constricting in his chest. A weight of agony teetering, barely balanced above him - waiting to fall and shatter over his head. It was his curse. It was what he deserved.

“Do not pity me,” Dara said, blinking back the tears that formed in his eyes. “You know of the things I have done. It is no more than what I deserve.”

Nahri’s hand cupped his chin, she turned his head so he met her eyes. They were fiery with denial, but her lips were pursed with worry. Her fingers molded to his cheek as she shook her head.

“No, Dara,” she said firmly. “No one deserves that.”

_ “I do wish you’d quit equating misery with redemption.” _

That lump in his throat again. He swallowed as hard as he could, willing it down. 

“You do not deserve such a weight in your bed, Banu Nahida,” he said, his fingers folding over hers. “You deserve better than me.”

Nahri sighed, half exhausted and half desperate. “In my experience people rarely get what they deserve. But Dara… did you ever think that now may be the time to put aside the pain to try for redemption?” Nahri said, her eyes searching his face. “How are you ever going to atone for your crimes when you’re so busy punishing yourself? Feeling sorry for yourself?”

The words were blunt, harsh and true. And much needed. Perhaps it was time to stop dwelling on what he deserved and work towards the redemption Nahri mentioned. He had been given a second chance and it would be a shame to waste it wallowing in regret. Submerging himself in guilt. Torturing himself. In fact… that was too easy for the crimes he had committed. Letting himself hurt and weep and struggle. It was harder to act.

“Tell me what you’re thinking, Dara.”

“That you are right,” he replied. “That I have amends to make and…” Dara’s voice broke yet again. He weaved his fingers with hers. “And your hand to earn.”

“Yes, you do,” she teased, with a small smile. “But it is too late to start tonight. We should rest.”

Dara nodded and suddenly acknowledged that the tightness in his chest was gone. The thickness in his throat dissolved. The stinging in his eyes lingering, but hardly threatening to spill over. Were Nahids capable of healing broken bodies  _ and _ broken souls? 

Or was that just Nahri?

“Shall I escort you safely back to your apartments, my lady?” Dara asked with a sniff.

Nahri looked affronted at the suggestion. “I think not,” she scoffed. She settled into his chest. “I’ve come to collect what you promised.”

Dara’s brows furrowed and he pressed his lips into her hair, trying to recall what this promise was. His silence must have given away his confusion as Nahri continued.

“I asked what you wanted. You said ‘another time.’ I told you I would collect.” 

“You said on our third outing…”

“I also said that perhaps the next time I snuck into your quarters.”

Dara smiled against her head. “You said my ‘home.’ Not my quarters.” 

She was quiet. She showed no signs of yielding. 

What was the harm? There was nothing she did not know about him now. What was so wrong about her knowing his hopes? Yes, they were humble and perhaps unexpected of an Afshin… but they were hardly more revealing than anything else she knew.

“Very well,” he said into her curls. He leaned his head back against his pillow and Nahri further burrowed into his shoulder, her fingers tracing the seams on his jacket. “I suppose we all want what we cannot have, yes?”

She shrugged. “Sure.”

“The last time I remember having a home was when I was eighteen. After that, I never stood still for long. The closest thing I had to a home then was a tent. The familiar sight of a door and family was replaced with campfires, bed mats, warm meals. It was hardly miserable but… it was not what I’d imagined for myself. It wasn’t what I’d hoped for.”

“And what was that?” 

Dara sighed, suppressing the warmth around his ears threatening to betray his apprehension. “I’m hesitant to confess to you.”

She rolled over onto his chest, hands folded beneath her chin, a brow arched. “Did you wish to be a performer? A poet?”

Dara laughed, the sound surprising him. It was hard to believe that not long ago he was trembling in fear.

“No, I decidedly did not,” he said, still smiling. “I only meant that you are so young, Nahri and I am concerned that you will trouble yourself with fulfilling my wants over your own.”

“I’m much too selfish,” Nahri said playfully. “And besides, who is to say that our wants won’t fit together like a puzzle?”

“Then there is the fact that this engagement is more of a means to an end with the benefit of mutual attraction. You are not obligated to be a real wife to me. I’m merely a vessel to ensure you maintain your freedom in this city…”

“Five years is a long time, Darayavahoush,” she said, purring his name. “Perhaps by our wedding we will be more than partners in a deal with one another.”

His stomach flipped at the thought. How he hoped to mean so much to her. To mean as much as she did to him. She was glad of his company and glad to have a ticket out of Ghassan's prison. After all, that was what he promised to be for her that night in the Grand Temple.

“Stop changing the subject. If it makes you so uneasy, think of it as you chatting with a companion and not your fiancée,” Nahri suggested brightly. “And I’m not asking because I wish to be a dutiful wife and fulfill your every wish. I am asking as a friend.”

Yes, that  _ was _ less complicated. 

“And it’s hardly fair that I laid my dreams bare before you and you withhold yours from me…”

“Fine, fine, little thief. I shall tell you of my dull desires from my mortal life,” he said rolling his eyes.

How easy it was to fall into step with her. To discard his trauma and flush himself of the chill of his nightmares in exchange for her warmth.

“I wanted a home. I didn’t much care where it was or how big it was. But I knew I wanted a stable, even if it was for just one horse.” The words tumbled out of him effortlessly. 

He struggled to avoid her gaze, knowing that the briefest inclination of whatever expression she was making could cause the words to be trapped in his throat.

“And while I did enjoy the company of my men, I had hoped to have a wife. Someone to spend my evenings with. Someone to come home to.” Dara reminded himself again that they were two friends in this moment, sharing their dreams. He was not a fiancé telling his betrothed what he wanted from her. “I would’ve liked a family too. People to care for. To show ruins and tell stories to.”

When he finally brought himself to look at her, she was smiling at him warmly. Her eyes danced with amusement.

“Such humble dreams from the man who never wanted a shrine” she remarked softly. 

Dara laughed mirthlessly. “Yes, who would have believed that The Scourge dreamed of a horse, a home and a family?”

Nahri stretched her neck up and placed a tender kiss on his neck. “I believe it.”

She settled back into the crook of his shoulder, arms snaking around his torso. Dara, suddenly lighter than air, held Nahri to him. She fit perfectly at his side and it was suddenly difficult to imagine that this evening had begun with such terror. 

“Go to sleep, Afshin. I’ll see myself out before dawn. Not to worry.”

Dara surrendered to the heavy fog creeping over him and let his eyes shut, his fiancée in his arms.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed and to any survivors of sexual assault, my heart goes out to you


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dara and Nahri go on their third outing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A dose of happiness after that heavy last chapter

Nahri’s reaction to Dara’s gifts was everything he’d hoped for and more. At first he’d been concerned that she was unimpressed. She had stared at the scrolls and books with a scrutinizing expression before she met his eyes again. He wasn’t certain if his heart had ever beat so fast over something so small. But then, mercifully, she finally spoke:

_ “You bought all of these for me?” _

_ “Yes…” _

_ “This has to have set you back in your wages, Dara.” _

_ The beat of his heart slowed. “Then it is fortunate I can conjure most anything I need.” _

_ A broad smile broke out on Nahri’s face. She unraveled every scroll and flipped the pages of every book, briefly studying each one with a passing remark about how useful it would be or how it was much newer than any copies in the Royal library.  _

Even now as they reached the dock to the boat that would ferry them across the lake Dara’s heart was nearly bursting. He’d done well. Yes, it had been with Muntadhir’s guidance but in the end Dara had been the one who chose the gifts. Books on the anatomy of the daeva body, scrolls on ingredients for complicated potions, a guide to local flora that was useful for medicine. Anything and everything he thought she would want to fill her head with. He’d bought them till his pocket was significantly lighter and the merchant was practically breathless with delight.

A Djinn merchant nonetheless. The Daeva merchant he’d approached first had a rather scanty selection and while Dara’s first impression of the Djinn man was that he looked to be an arrogant sandfly, there was no denying he had the most thorough and diverse material. He had indeed proven to be quite helpful after Dara confessed that he could not read.

Dara had awaited a snide comment after his admission but the man had only shrugged in response and set to assisting him. He even thanked Dara for his purchase.

“I know where we’re going,” Nahri said primly, her voice interrupting his thoughts.

Dara smirked as they boarded the ferry, six Daeva Brigade guards in tow. 

“Oh?”

“We’re going towards the veil. Triple the amount of normal guards are accompanying us,” she deduced looking over at him with a satisfied smile. “You’re taking me back to that cave.”

Dara only leaned closer to her, pressing a kiss into the top of her chador. A new habit he was developing since that night she comforted him in his quarters. 

“I do hope we’ll pick up where we left off…”

“Fighting for our lives?” Dara grinned.

Nahri shot him a look. “Yes, that’s exactly what I meant.”

Dara had prepared himself to feel some sort of lament as they left the city. A sadness that even though they were returning momentarily, he was leaving once again. 

But instead he only felt that familiar bursting sensation in his chest. The one he always felt around Nahri. It seemed that no matter where he was as long as she was close he was happy. The proximity he’d once admonished between them had become his favorite part of the day. He couldn’t put his finger on what the feeling was. It was almost like relief or even safety. With Nahri he was safe from his demons while also confronting them head on. All his unease exchanged for happiness. Gratitude, even to be in her company.

The ferry docked on the other side of the lake where Nahri, Dara and the group of guards disembarked.

Before Nahri could step onto the shore, Dara found he’d raised a hand to help her down. She looked surprised at the gesture. Dara hadn’t even thought about the action, it was almost an instinct by now. He helped Nahri out of palanquins, down the last step of the palace stairs, onto the dais in dining halls. 

He arched a brow at her, his palm still open to accept her fingers. “This is the part where you take my hand, Banu Nahida.”

The startled expression fell from Nahri’s face, her cheeks flushed and she accepted Dara’s help off the ferry. Dara dropped her hand and fiddled with the collar of the newest addition to his “nobleman’s attire.” A midnight blue silk jacket with silver embroidery that itched his neck. He heard Nahri laugh softly at his side.

“Have you ever considered asking for them to tailor your collars shorter? It  _ is  _ their job to make clothing you  _ want  _ to wear.”

Tugging the collar once more, Dara and Nahri advanced uphill towards the towering trees that led to the veil. “I have made that request but was told that this was ‘in fashion for men of my status,’” Dara grumbled. “I’m beginning to understand why all of the city’s nobles behave so irritably…” 

He admired her simple, sky blue abaya and plain chador. Though they appeared rather stark and unimpressive, it was apparent the fabric was of high quality. Dara envied Nahri’s wardrobe and its efficiency. The way her seamstress knew the colors that made Nahri’s skin glow and the cut of a headdress that best framed her face, complimenting her delicate features. The clothing had been made with Nahri in mind and no doubt that was partly due to her penchant for making her every opinion known.

Dara’s seamstress and tailor, however, seemed focused on putting him in the height of Daeva fashion. Of prioritizing popularity over function. The days he donned his Daeva Brigade training clothing was a relief. Perhaps the only downside of his outings with Nahri were that he had to wear these uncomfortable jackets with their irritating collars.

“You look  _ thoroughly  _ displeased,” Nahri remarked, a playful lilt in her voice. 

Dara turned his attention to her with a sigh. “I’m just envying your wardrobe, Banu Nahida.”

“You wish you looked this attractive in an abaya?”

He laughed, a full-bodied noise that brought a tinge of blush to Nahri’s cheeks. “Yes, you’ve caught me.”

They continued their trek up the hill and through the clearing until the shimmering veil was just in sight. Once they stepped through Dara requested the guards keep watch and listen for any sign of trouble at the top of the river. He did not want to risk Nahri’s safety and with how their last trip to the Gozan went he didn’t mind compromising some of their privacy in exchange for security. 

Nahri slipped her arm through Dara’s and they walked beside the river, down the gentle slope and in the directions of the Gozan. Dara was pleasantly surprised at how they fell into step. His questioning of if she thought about their moment in the cave as often as he did was answered by the route her memory took her without a word spoken.

“I’m impressed, Afshin. Asking the guards to give us some privacy?” 

“Are you attempting to make me second guess myself?” Dara said with a small smile. “Because I can ask them to join us.”

Nahri swatted his arm as they continued along the rocky edge of the river. “You’d better not.” Her grip on him tightened. “You seem unbothered.”

“And what am I meant to be bothered by?”

“The river that  _ tried to kill us, _ ” Nahri said, dramatically gesturing to the gushing water.

Dara’s chest tightened briefly as he recalled being lowered toward the Gozan. The threat of drowning again rang in his ears. He turned his gaze to his feet that were treading steadily upon the ground, smoke curling at the soles that quickly dissipated.

“It helps that we have half a dozen guards an arm’s length away,” he said pointedly. “Whoever the ifrit were working for wouldn’t risk coming here again. Not after Ghassan has been made aware of the attack.”

Nahri blanched. “Can we not speak of Ghassan, please? I’ve had more than enough of the king without him intruding on my day with you.”

Dara helped Nahri over a large root and glanced over his shoulder at the guards still barely in sight.

“Surely you don’t see him too often in the palace. For meals I imagine but nothing more?”

“Oh for meals, but we do pass each other in the corridors on occasion. Or he’ll come into the infirmary if a patient is a friend,” Nahri grumbled. “Just knowing he’s in the same building puts me on edge. I can’t wait until I can leave the palace and move in with you.”

Dara nearly lost his footing at the declaration. He wasn’t quite sure why. After all, they’d agreed on that arrangement long ago. He couldn’t help the image that came to mind not that he wanted to:

Nahri, in his home, just  _ being _ . Her clothing in a drawer beside his own. Her books and scrolls on his desk. Sleeping every night in his bed.  _ Their  _ bed. 

Nahri mistook him and corrected herself. “Or we can move elsewhere. A different quarter. I really don’t care where as long as I don’t have to see Ghassan.”

Dara cleared his throat and felt the heat in his cheeks continue to rage. “You’ll still have your practice in his infirmary though. I imagine that will make it difficult to avoid him.”

Nahri waved an errant hand. “I can practice anywhere we go.”

_ Anywhere  _ we  _ go… _

“I think we turn right here,” Nahri muttered as though she had no idea that every word that escaped her lips was the promise of a bright future. 

True enough, the pock-marked walls of caves stood before them. Even truer was the one that looked identical to the rest but very different to Dara.

“That’s the one.”

And apparently to Nahri. He felt his stomach flip as she released his arm and eagerly clambered up to the cave. 

When he joined her, there were still the faint remains of their campfire. Nothing but a dark smudge on the stone floor but he knew the spot well. 

Nahri lowered herself to the ground. “This was where I was which puts you right about… here,” she said, patting a spot less than an arm’s reach away.

Dara paused, fiddling with his ring anxiously. The way she was lying on her side, elbow propped up so her head rested in the palm of her hand. The way curls sprouted from the confines of her chador. The gentle curve of her lips in that teasing smile. Her fingers grazed the spot invitingly once more and Dara forced himself to move forward, taking a seat on the floor and folding his legs in front of him. 

He turned to Nahri who beamed at him with that easy smile. A look he never received from anyone else. A look he never  _ would _ receive from anyone else. Not that he was owed it. Or craved it for that matter.

Nahri’s affection was more than enough and more than he deserved.

“Lie down, Afshin. We have to set the scene.”

“A moment,” he said with a patient smile. 

He leaned forward over the smudge that had once been their fire and waved a hand. A small pile of sticks and kindling formed, dancing with flames. The sun still hung in the sky and the fire was hardly necessary, but she had asked that they set the scene and so he would fulfill her wish.

“There,” Dara said, reclining onto his back and folding his hands over his torso. 

He looked out of the corner of his eye at Nahri who was also lying down.

“I remember seeing that you were awake and I remember you telling me that you wished you could look at the stars.”

Dara was both embarrassed by the moment of vulnerability and pleased that she remembered it. He hadn’t expected to open up so easily before the Cairene Con Artist but it came to him as easy as breathing that evening. 

“I knew before then that you were more human than you seemed, but hearing you admit that you wanted something so simple as to look up at the stars…” she trailed off. “It was so much different than all the other times you accidentally confessed something to me.”

Dara swallowed the sudden lump in his throat. “You cared and it spilled out. It felt… good.”

She continued unprompted. “Then I asked why and it was like I didn’t have to pry your thoughts from your fingers any longer. You said that you were afraid that it was your last night of being a free man.” She paused briefly. “But you sounded resigned to it. I didn’t know why at the time but… it makes sense now. But in that moment it struck me that you were ready to give up everything for me.”

Nahri turned her head to look at him. He met her dark gaze, as dark as midnight. Though her face was unreadable her eyes spoke volumes.

“No one had ever done anything like that for me before.”

Silence transpired and Dara found himself discontented by the vulnerability. He soldiered forward regardless because through the uncomfortability was a sort of relief. No… a high.

“And then you teased me,” he chuckled. His tone became sour. “Referred to my history and the brutal path it left behind as an ancient grudge that no one would be capable of sustaining for centuries on end.”

Nahri frowned. 

Dara fixed her with a sad, lopsided smile. “And you remember the rest.”

Nahri nodded and brought herself onto her elbow again. “I told you it was a joke and then I leaned over you like this.” She rolled onto her side, pushing herself up and reached for Dara’s cheek, her body pressing against his chest. “You looked so startled.”

Dara raised a hand, cupping her face. His thumb ran over her cheekbone, fingers tracing the line of her jaw. “I could not recall the last time someone had touched me so tenderly.”

Nahri’s brows furrowed. “You seemed so surprised but also a bit longing.” The hint of a smile played on her face, eyes dancing. “It made me want to do this.” She dipped her head and pressed her lips to his.

They fit together perfectly and he wondered if he’d ever become accustomed to such affection.

“And then you refused me,” she said, her hot breath tickling his face as she laughed softly. “But you didn’t mean it. I know my marks well and I could tell that when you said it was inappropriate it was only that. You wanted more.”

Dara smiled against Nahri’s lips, his eyes meeting hers. “You told me to shut up if I recall.”

She nodded. “Yes, and you didn’t protest again after that.”

Again her lips locked with his and she kissed him urgently, feverishly. The gasp of her breath between kisses sent a chill down his spine, his stomach flipping. As she reached for his trousers, struggling to remove the flipping turned to churning. A familiar sweat of ash broke on his forehead. A tremor went down his spine and he felt a tear fall down his cheek as his vision became unsteady. 

It was happening yet again.

Nahri pulled away. “Oh, Dara,” she said. “Dara, you’re alright.” 

She came back into focus, a frown on her face. Her fingers combed through his hair gingerly and when his shaky breathing began to slow the lines on her forehead smoothed. He was suddenly very embarrassed.

No. Ashamed.

Dara quickly wiped away a tear, then ran the back of his hand across his sweaty forehead. Creator, would he ever stop destroying everything he touched? Nahri’s happiness. His own. The fragile fragments of the opportunities they had were in his hands like delicate shards of glass. The slightest shift in the position of his fingers could break them all.

And that’s what he had done. That he continued to do. Leave their chances of happiness in pieces.

“I’m so sorry,” he said, raising himself up onto his elbows. His voice was rough. “I do not know why… it came over me again.”

Nahri pushed herself to sit, one arm bracing her as she looked down at him, her fingers continued to rake gently through his hair. “No, don’t apologize, Dara.”

He grimaced. “And so our business in this cave is once again interrupted.”

Nahri shook her head at him. “Don’t worry yourself. We’ve got plenty of time to pick up where we left off here.”

The kind smile on her lips made Dara’s heart swell, tears stung his eyes at her generosity. Her understanding.

“I mean after we’re married I imagine it will practically be my duty as a Nahid to try and conceive with you as often as possible,” she winked with a wicked smile.

Dara laughed tearfully. “Yes, I imagine that conception with a dead man may require many tries before it takes.”

Her free hand found one of his, threading their fingers and giving them a squeeze. “Should we manage it, I’ll hold you to your word. You’ll tell us stories and show us ruins.”

There was fluttering in his belly, the corner of his lip hitched up. He nodded at her and sighed, feeling a little lighter. “But before we can even consider that, Banu Nahida, we have years of courtship to complete and a wedding to have.”

“Ah, yes. You said that on the third outing we’d discuss the wedding,” Nahri remarked. She looked chagrined. “I don’t know much about weddings but I think I’d prefer it to be a personal affair.”

Dara winced. “I do not think it will be possible for a woman of nobility to be married privately. The people, and Ghassan, will want a grand ceremony.”

“Well, I don’t know why,” she grumbled bitterly. “It seems very intimate. I don’t know why anyone would want to intrude.”

“Because by nature people are greedy for anything and everything they can get. Even moments that are special to other people.”

She scowled and Dara nearly laughed. 

“Well, at least the night will be ours,” she sighed. That mischievous grin lit her face again. “We’ll be able to sleep together, unashamed. Maybe we won’t even go to bed.”

He forced a smile, eyes downcast as a pang of sadness hit him. “And should my demons come calling once again? And ruin our wedding night?”

Nahri seemed perplexed. She lowered herself to lie closer to him. Her eyes met his, hand pressed to his chest. 

“Dara, do you still not understand why I’m with you? Are you truly so blind, you infuriating man?”

His heart pounded against his ribs. He felt that sensation of expansion in his chest. The breath was nearly stolen from him with a giddiness that he was unable to contain.

“I don’t know exactly when it started, but Dara, I care for you,” she said hesitantly. 

Anticipation rose and he prayed she would continue. That the words would keep flowing and shower over him, drenching him in a lovesick fool’s affirmation. Her fingers traced patterns on his chest and a wistful smile crossed her lips.

“I don’t expect you to reciprocate, but I want you - I  _ need  _ you, to understand that you are more than just a means to an end for me. More than the man I have sex with. More than my Afshin even,” she admitted in a voice barely above a whisper. “I… I want you to be my husband. My real husband.”

“Nahri.”

She mistook the tone of his voice and flinched. “And I hope someday that you will want me as a wife, but the last thing I want is to tie you down and you’re already doing more than your fair share for me so if all I have in you is a friend then I will accept that.”

And every doubt he had fell away with those final words. Every question he’d had about if he could feel, if he could want, if he could love was answered. He wanted Nahri as a wife and not so he could publicly and legally possess her, but because she was someone he wanted to start every morning and end every day with. Someone he wanted to search for him first whenever there was a crowd. Someone to share his burdens, someone to share her own.

He wanted that someone to be Nahri.

And he’d wanted it longer than he realized.

Dara sat up and released her hand. He wanted to have the words but they came to him so rarely. She stared at him apprehensively, chewing her lower lip. Her brows furrowed. Dara brought his fingers to her face, cradling it in his hands. 

_ I want you to be my husband. My real husband. _

He inclined his head pressing his lips to hers again. This kiss was different. It wasn’t a reenactment, it wasn’t a brief display of affection. It was ardent and raw and tears spilled down his cheeks onto her face. Her hands knotted in his hair and for a moment he wondered if she would ever let go. When they separated, the edge of her lip was tilted upward, her eyes sparkled.

“It would be an honor to call you my wife,” he said breathlessly. “In the most authentic sense of the word.”

And she kissed him again and he found himself losing count at this point. He imagined that he never would be able to count their kisses again. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Do you have a Danarhi headcanon you’re obsessed with?


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dara’s actions catch up with him

It had been a little over a month since Nahri had blessed Dara with the confession that she wanted him to be her husband. A true husband and not just a friend that was a means to and end.

At first he wondered if something would change between them. If their business agreement to secure Nahri’s freedom would evolve into something more delicate. If the taunting and teasing and fevered kisses would be exchanged for sweet nothings and gentle embraces. 

To Dara’s relief - and he wondered if to Nahri’s - there was no difference between scheming partners and fiancés. For every barbed remark the other had a witty retort. For every playful shove another was traded. The ardent kisses were less abashed and the urge to be within close proximity only heightened. 

It was nice.

But as Dara knew all too well, when something seemed too good to be true, it usually was. 

It was the end of the week and as had been the norm since a month after their engagement, Nahri and Dara were visiting The Grand Temple to mingle with the Daeva community.

Attendance had dwindled significantly over the weeks since his proclamation to the Daeva boys of his ambivalence towards shafit and a little more after his patronage with a Geziri merchant to purchase Nahri’s gifts. The preference had nothing to do with tribes, the Geziri man had simply had a better selection than the Daeva man did.

The visible difference in attendance was hardly noticeable that first week after his discouragement of The Scourge. Now it was very apparent.

Dara grimaced as his eyes surveyed how little Daeva were gathered. He hated the idea that he was responsible for any lack of popularity Nahri was suffering. 

“Afshin,” Nahri said quietly so only he could hear. “What’s got you so anxious?”

Only then did Dara notice the tension in his already rigid posture. The tight line of his shoulders and how strongly he was clasping his hands together behind his back. 

He turned his attention to the floor, slightly embarrassed. “The turn out is sparse and I fear I am the cause.”

“Good,” Nahri shrugged, examining her nails. “Less work for us. And I don’t want anyone who disagrees with you in our company anyway.”

Truthfully, neither did he. But for all his desire to avoid confrontation, a part of Dara longed to exchange words with those that opposed his loss of blood lust. To ask them if they knew what it was like to lose everything. To question them as to if they’d ever been forced to confront their sins for centuries. Were they familiar with committing centuries of atrocities without a choice? They knew nothing of his pain. They knew nothing of him. If they did, they would know how utterly exhausted he was with massacres.

And what was worse… Dara almost missed their admiration. It made him sick to his stomach to realize this and perhaps it wasn’t so much the admiration as it was not being despised. 

“Would you prefer to visit the Geziri quarter and be attacked by a mob?” Nahri said thoughtfully.

Dara snorted. At least then he would feel as though he was being punished and not ignored. Paying for his sins instead of basking in false admiration.

Then again, he knew the arrogance that came with being a member of the ruling tribe and the only thing worse than a regular sandfly was an arrogant one. The emir came to mind immediately.

Well, he wasn’t so bad after all was he?

And then Alizayd was perhaps the only person in Daevabad having the appropriate reaction to Dara’s arrival. What really made Little Zaydi so unbearable were the staggering parallels Dara could draw between the two of them. Not that he was Geziri.

Well, Ayaanle  _ and _ Geziri.

“You both seem mercifully underwhelmed,” Kartir said, suddenly appearing at their side. 

He wore a warm smile and Dara could see Nahri’s shoulders relax. The effect Kartir had could be likened to that of an old friend despite the short time they’d known him. 

The corner of Nahri’s lip tilted upward as she threw an amused look at Dara. “Dara is skeptical of our good fortune.”

Kartir turned to the Afshin, puzzled. “Whatever for? Forgive me, Afshin, but you do not strike me as a social-lite.”

The man wasn’t wrong. Dara preferred the company of a chosen few. 

“It does not bode well that my recent statements have instilled reluctance in the respect the Daeva have for their Banu Nahida.”

Kartir bristled ever so slightly. “If they resent her for your statements then perhaps they never respected the Banu Nahida to begin with.” He squared his shoulders. “And what those Daeva had for the Banu Nahida was not respect. It was worship.”

Nahri scrunched up her nose eliciting a smirk from Dara. The weight on his chest lifted slightly, but there was still a lingering sense of wariness. The whisper in the back of his mind that this was all too good to be true. And then there was Dara's shame for his weakness. His desire to be liked by anyone. The warring emotions within him were evident as usual - Kartir cleared his throat.

“Afshin, I had some historical documents delivered to me from the Royal Library in my office that I believe you may be interested in. Would you like to accompany me?” 

Dara glanced at Nahri. “Who will watch after the Banu Nahida?”

Nahri groaned, rolling her eyes. “I’m sure the sixteen members of the Daeva Brigade can handle protecting me for a few moments, Dara.”

Before Dara could protest again, stating that none of them could wield his level of powerful magic, Kartir was gesturing towards a small door at the back of Temple. Dara scowled briefly but at the raise of Kartir’s eyebrows he relented. 

He looked to Nahri once more. “I won’t be long.”

Kartir led Dara towards the door he suspected would take them to the man’s office. Some of the Daeva they passed offered respectful nods, a handful leered. A knot formed in Dara’s stomach and he inhaled deeply through his nose to cool the anxiety in his chest. Their stares shouldn’t bother him. They really shouldn’t.

Kartir opened the door for Dara who warily walked ahead of the man - he did not like having his back to anyone, but he could make an exception for the high priest.

The room was small but not cramped. There was a desk with neatly stacked scrolls and papers, a small array of writing utensils and two high backed chairs - one behind and in front of the desk. 

“Have a seat,” Kartir said, crossing to the chair behind the desk.

Dara hesitantly lowered himself into the chair, his eyes combing Kartir’s papers and books for whatever historical documents had been mentioned. The priest looked at him with a somber smile.

Dara arched a brow. “What are these documents?”

“Afshin, why did you accept the Banu Nahida’s proposal?”

Dara blinked in surprise. Though after the tongue lashing he received from Kartir that night before Nahri had proposed the priest’s forthright nature should hardly have come as a shock. Kartir’s head tilted to the side, Dara adjusted his position in his seat. It should’ve been an easy question with how his heart overflowed for Nahri. With how his head was always filled with thoughts of her. But only one reason came to mind when he truly thought about it.

“I long for her company, always.”

Kartir nodded, his lips turned down at the corners in consideration. Dara suddenly was very preoccupied with the hem of his jacket sleeve.

“And what is it about the Banu Nahida that makes you crave her company? Try not to think about it, just answer,” Kartir shrugged nonchalantly.

“She is kind to me,” Dara said instinctively. His voice became quieter. “She makes me feel as though… I can be better.”

“Then what need have you for the approval of others?”

Dara shook his head. “You make it sound so simple.”

“It is. Or it could be if you stopped equating hatred with redemption.” 

“Why is everyone so sure I am capable of redemption? That I’m always attempting to puzzle out how I can make up for my past transgressions?” Dara all but snarled. “How does anyone atone for what I’ve done?”

Kartir’s expression remained impassive and Dara felt a sudden surge of guilt for the way he had spoken. He clenched his jaw, fighting off the urge to apologize. He had meant what he said, no matter how the words had come out. And even more, Dara wanted an answer. He wanted someone to tell him how he could atone for what he had done.

“I can’t answer that question for you,” Kartir finally said. “But you’ll get nowhere wallowing as you do. Start by realizing that the approval you seek so desperately means nothing if it’s from the wrong people.”

“I realize that. It’s the effect it has on Nahri that concerns me.”

“Is it?”

The candid tone of the man’s voice made Dara flinch. How could he see so clearly through Dara? To parts Dara couldn’t even see himself.

“You want what everyone wants, Darayavahoush. To be loved,” Kartir shrugged. “And you are, by the one person who matters most. What more can you ask for? Remember that next time you are wanting for admirers.”

Not long after Dara and Kartir returned to Nahri did the engaged couple decide to take their leave. 

Dara helped Nahri into the palanquin that would first deposit him at his home, then proceed with her to the palace. For a few moments they sat in silence. Dara didn’t care to divulge his conversation with Kartir to Nahri. Not yet at least. He was still consumed by his shame. The shame he felt for wanting something so simple as love. Something simple that he did not deserve and that he could not earn.

_ “...you are, by the one the one that matters most.” _

Kartir’s words did more by way of consolation than Dara had expected. Just replaying his advice in Dara’s head brought a small amount of comfort to the Afshin.

“So what were these  _ ancient documents? _ ” Nahri smirked.

Dara threw her a look, the smallest of smiles on his lips. “You know perfectly well there were no documents.”

She snickered to herself and Dara’s stomach fluttered at the sound. He enjoyed making her laugh. He loved the idea that he could have such an effect on someone. That he of all people could elicit a smile from her.

_ The one that matters most. _

Dara settled back against the palanquin wall and reached for her hand. It was practically instinctive and it took him a moment to realize what he had done. He almost pulled away but before he could, Nahri had taken his fingers in hers. When he looked up to meet her eyes, she was staring distantly out the crack in the palanquin curtain. As though this action was nothing. As though it were as simple as breathing and not the kindest gesture he could receive.

They sat in companionable silence the remainder of the ride.

Until the palanquin jolted and fell with an ungraceful clatter. Dara and Nahri both jostled, nearly tumbling out of the side. The sound of hurried footsteps and a few startled gasps roused Dara from his surprised stupor. He looked to Nahri who was straightening her chador and adjusting herself to sit upright.

“Are you alright?” 

She nodded, eyes flickering to the closed, velvet curtain of the palanquin that sat level on the ground now. “That doesn’t sound good out there.”

“Wait here,” Dara said, crouching to exit. Not to his surprise, but to his regret, Nahri followed despite his wishes. He rolled his eyes and helped her out onto the street. “You would sooner die than listen to me, Banu Nahida.”

There was no barbed retort or witty comeback, only Nahri’s brows furrowing as light flickered across her face. He followed her gaze, recognizing that they were in the Daeva quarter. Recognizing that the light he’d seen on her features was the reflection of a fire. Recognizing that it was coming from his home, engulfed in flames.

Members of the Daeva Brigade hurriedly attempted to quell the fire with some of the recruits from the Daeva Boy’s home. Not overly fond of the idea of his younger comrades attempting to wrestle the flames, Dara left Nahri’s side, ushering them all away from his house. A house he wasn’t nearly as attached to as he was those boys.

As he neared the scene, a familiar scent made itself known. 

Rumi fire.

“Back… back! Back!” Dara shouted, ushering the crowd away.

But he was not quick enough.

The house burst, raging flames spilling onto the street. The onlookers were thrown back. Fiery, tar-like substance splattered the ground and Dara’s ears rang as he fell to the pavement. He was faintly aware of a burning sensation between his shoulders and then the world went dark.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Listen it’s not my most well written chapter and I won’t hear otherwise, but the next one will be much better. Promise.


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The morning following the rumi fire attack brings news for Dara

Dara was not unaccustomed to unpleasant awakenings. Often he was roused from sleep by nightmares. Other times he woke in a fog of disorientation. One time he had opened his eyes to find himself on the very edge of a flying carpet. 

But Dara woke to none of those things today.

Instead he woke to soft groans and gentle whimperings. Quiet whispers and hesitant promises that pain would soon subside. 

The voices were all familiar and when Dara opened his eyes, he found himself lying in the palace infirmary on a cot.

Dara turned his head to find half of the beds occupied. Each patient was bandaged in some way or another and those who were not sleeping were moaning in pain.

Dara recognized some of the Daeva Recruits among them. Emad was sleeping, jaw slack, with his arm in a sling. Hirad was beside him in a similar position but with his chest bandaged.

The sudden flash.

A earth shaking bang.

The smell of burning flesh and rumi fire.

Dara sat up straight, the spot on his back suddenly itching as he remembered the faint pain he had felt before passing out.

“It slid right off of you.”

Dara turned his head to see Nahri beside the cot behind him. She was delicately dabbing at the sweaty forehead of a sleeping, elderly woman with a bandage on her cheek. 

“What?” Dara croaked.

Nahri crossed to his bedside, taking a seat by his legs. Her dark eyes swept the room. “If Nisreen catches me sitting she’ll have my head,” she muttered. “The rumi fire. It slid right off of you.”

Dara felt his brows furrow. “I felt it though.”

“There’s not a scratch on you,” Nahri shrugged. 

“One of the benefits of not being alive, I suppose.”

His voice was more bitter than he intended. He averted his gaze from Nahri, instead taking in the residents once again. He frowned. All of them, injured. Innocent people both young and old. 

Nahri’s hand gripped his fingers. He finally brought himself to look at her. The sympathetic smile on her face sent a pang of guilt through him. Dara did not deserve her pity. He was the reason her infirmary was filled to the brim. These people were lying here in agony because of him.

“You can’t blame yourself, Dara.”

“Yes, I can.” He paused, swallowing the lump in his throat. “How many dead?”

Any trace of a smile vanished from her face. “Four.”

Dara felt as though his breath had been stolen from him. He massaged the bridge of his nose with his free hand, eyes stinging. Four lives lost. Because of him. Would his parade of death ever end? Would he ever stop leaving bodies in his wake? How many more stolen stories at his hand?

“But forty people saved because of you…” Nahri said softly. “How did you know?”

His stomach churned. Dara inhaled deeply, trying to cool the burning sensation in his chest. “I… recognized the smell.” Dara could no longer keep his secrets from her. At this point bearing his soul had become addictive. “It’s an attack I am familiar with.”

For a moment, Nahri appeared as though she may apologize. She always assumed the best of him. She assumed he was the one who had suffered. That he had been a victim. Dara fixed her with a knowing look. Her forehead creased with concern.

“You...”

“It is a clever trap. An effective one.”

Nahri nodded and Dara couldn’t help but imagine what she was thinking. That he had been a monster, but not anymore. That he wasn’t entirely responsible, he had saved lives. Always assuming the best. Always ready to defend him. He did not deserve such grace. 

“Do we know who is responsible?” he asked. 

Nahri opened her mouth to speak, then bit down on her lip. Dara raised a brow, but before he could persuade her to speak, they were interrupted.

“Afshin, you’re awake.”

Nahri stood instantly as Nisreen appeared before them. 

She gave Nahri an admonishing look. “Nasim has finally woken. There’s always work to be done, Banu Nahida.” Nisreen turned to Dara. “I was ordered to send you to the Qaid when you regained consciousness.”

Likely for debriefing. Hopefully he would be able to get some answers there. 

“He and Prince Alizayd will see you in the Royal Meeting room.”

_ Fuck. _

“Alright then.” Dara pushed himself to stand, refusing to take in just how many bodies occupied the infirmary. “When will you release Banu Nahri?”

“When our work is done,” Nisreen said with unquestionable finality.

Dara gave her a rakish msmile. Her cheeks flushed. 

“Banu Nahri will be finished before supper, Afshin.”

He hadn’t noticed that Nahri was still holding his hand until she gave his fingers a gentle squeeze. 

“I’ll meet you in your quarters.”

Ah, yes. His quarters here in the palace. As he no longer had a home.

Dara did not have the strength to wrap his head around the fact that he would now have to live with his ancestral enemies. So instead he excused himself and headed towards the Royal Meeting room.

Prince Alizayd was not waiting as expected but Wajed al-Sabi had made himself comfortable at the head of the table. The Qaid asked Dara to sit, to which he declined, positioning himself to lean against the wall by one of the windows. It wasn’t out of hostility that Dara refused the man’s request. Dara desperately needed to breathe fresh air. To feel the sun on his face. Truthfully, he felt sick. Especially in the company of two Geziri.

No doubt their tribe was behind the attack. It could have been the shafit, though he doubted they would’ve easily been able to move about the Daeva quarter without being sighted. 

The prejudice his tribe had for the shafit still ran deep. Only a pureblood could’ve launched this attack. Someone from the Geziri quarter. Maybe the Tukharistani area. Dara wasn’t sure yet.

Remembering the broken boys lying in the infirmary and the lives lost, Dara felt rage swell in him. He clenched his fists, fighting the urge to leap out the window and storm every quarter until he found the party responsible. He prayed they had already been found. That they were in the dungeons of this palace, anxiously awaiting their death sentences.

“When will your protege grace us with his presence?” Dara asked through clenched teeth.

Wajed stiffened in his seat. “Alizayd will be here shortly, Afshin.”

Dara fought off a sneer, instead setting his jaw, his eyes trained on the palace gardens out the window. They were spilling with greenery, unkempt and wild. The Nahids had always tended to the gardens with pride. 

_ Maybe they were monsters but at least they maintained their palace… _

The door opened and a somber Alizayd entered. Dara’s throat itched for a snide remark regarding the prince’s tardiness but he refrained. Something about Ali’s expression seemed distressed or even uneasy.

Dara’s temper flared as he wondered if perhaps Ghassan was behind this.

No. The king would know better than to antagonize The Scourge. He was a coward but he was not a fool.

“Apologies for my tardiness.” 

Ali sat beside the Qaid who eyed him carefully.

“Have they been apprehended?”

Ali nodded - his eyes flickered to Dara. “They wish to speak to him.”

Wajed met Dara’s stare, his lips pressed in a flat line. “Afshin, you really should sit.”

“I would prefer to stand,” Dara growled taking a step towards the table. “I’m assuming the ‘they’ you are both referring to are the ones behind the attack?”

The Qaid looked uneasy, but squared his shoulders, folding his hands atop the table. His patient demeanor nearly tipped Dara into a fit rage. Then again, Dara would be patient too if his tribe hadn’t just suffered an attack.

Dara was surprised when Alizayd was the one to speak.

“They came to  _ us _ , actually. They were eager to take credit for their actions.”

Dara snorted. “Wonderful. And they would like to speak with me, you said?”

Ali opened his mouth to continue but it was Wajed who spoke up. “Afshin, last I checked you were a recruit for the Daeva Brigade, not a member of the Royal Guard.”

The laugh that escaped Dara’s lips was entirely involuntary. “Qaid, forgive me, but are you really so desperate to protect your criminal sandflies that you-“

“What was that?” Alizayd snarled.

Dara’s mirthless grin, broadened. “Oh, this righteousness from a Qahtani who throws about the term ‘fire worshippers?’ The palace has ears, boy-“

“They were Daeva.”

Dara’s breath caught in his throat. His stomach dropped. Begrudgingly, he forced himself to meet the Qaid’s eyes. 

He nodded gravely. “They had the audacity to confess with a letter this morning claiming their actions were a defense of the ideals of the Daeva tribe,” the Qaid continued, placing a piece of parchment on the table. “The Royal Guard picked the culprits up from a home not but a few doors down from your own an hour ago.”

Dara’s legs felt weak and he was suddenly very angry with himself for not taking a seat when it was offered to him. It all made sense, didn’t it?

The lack of attendance at the Grand Temple. The attack he recognized as an old Daeva battle tactic. 

It had only been a matter of time that those Daeva who were disappointed with Dara’s reluctance towards his past made a move. A drastic one at that.

And Emad. And Hirad. Both who had been swayed by Dara’s confession. Now burned and bloodied in the infirmary with wounds not even a Nahid could heal. 

He wasn’t quite sure when it happened but Dara found himself sitting.

Dara had missed the Daeva’s admiration, but what he should have missed was the safety it provided him.

Creator, the Daeva? His own tribe. His own tribe had betrayed him. And for what? For no longer being a monster? He knew they revered The Scourge but were they really so passionate about his crimes that they would punish him and others with  _ rumi fire?  _ Did they really hate the shafit so much? 

Were his people truly so scared of the shafit that they would commit this act of violence against their own tribe? 

Surely they could see sense. It had been centuries and they still saw the existence of these people as a threat? Even when the man formerly committed to their extermination had assured them it wasn’t so?

Dara’s blood boiled. He clenched his fists, bringing himself to meet Wajed’s eyes. “I want to speak with them,” Dara growled. 

“Afshin, that is not your decision,” the Qaid said evenly.

“Whose decision is it then? They want to speak with me. I want to speak with them. Whose approval do I need?”

“ _ Mine, _ ” Wajed said.

The two held each other’s seething gazes. Dara wordlessly tried to persuade the man into letting him see these criminals. These monsters. He wanted to look them in the eye. He wanted to demand an explanation. To ask them if they’d learned nothing. To make them see sense. 

They wanted the Scourge didn’t they? 

“Wajed,” Alizayd said in a quiet, but firm voice. “Where is the harm?”

“Ali,” snapped the Qaid. “Have you forgotten who this man is?” Wajed gestured to Dara. “He’ll murder them with a snap of his fingers. They are to receive a proper trial.”

“They’ll be executed tomorrow and you know that. My father will see it no other way.”

Dara exhaled. “I will refrain from killing them. I want to see them properly tried.”

“As Qaid I am to make responsible decisions-“

“I am responsible for their actions,” Dara said, his fist slamming against the table. “They want to face me.  _ Let them. _ ”

Silence sat heavy between the three of them. In Ali’s stormy gaze Dara saw conviction he recognized. A commitment to justice. It was a dangerous thing, but right now it was in Dara’s best interest to encourage him.

“If you do not trust me, let the Qaid-to-be accompany me,” Dara said, trying to keep his voice steady. 

Wajed barked a laugh. “Yes, I’ll just let the two of you saunter into the dungeons then, shall I? You and your ancestral enemy.”

Ali eyed Dara carefully. “He won’t harm me, Wajed.”

“He will if you stand in his way, Ali,” said the Qaid under his breath.

Dara and Alizayd’s unrelenting stares must have had some sway on the older man as Dara could see his eyes flickering with indecision.

After another moment he sighed heavily. “Alright. But I will join you both. And the guards will stand just outside in case the Afshin tries anything.  _ Anything. _ ”

Dara raised his palms in surrender. He could live with these terms. Besides, if he wanted to execute the criminals himself he could hardly be stopped by the lanky prince and his elderly uncle. Even with royal guards nearby.

The walk to the palace dungeons was long and with every step closer Dara felt his anger grow stronger. At his side Alizayd was silent, his grey eyes determined. Dara was nearly staggered at the similarities he saw between his younger self and the prince.

Both severely passionate in their beliefs. Unwaveringly loyal to their people. Raised from birth to be weapons for royalty.

But that was a concern for another time. Besides, the last time he’d tried to point out their parallels the prince had not heeded Dara’s warning. Rather he had lashed out violently.

_ We’re more alike than you think, you self-righteous sandfly… _

When they arrived at the dungeons Dara found they were perhaps the only part of the palace that remained unchanged. They were just as dark and sinister as his memory recalled. 

The Qaid dismissed the guards, ordering them to remain close by and stay alert for any commands or cries of distress. They obeyed dutifully, but not before casting wary glances at the Afshin.

It was a change from their usual disdain for him. Dara wondered if having their rival tribe act in rebellion against him had softened them somewhat. But those were just more thoughts reserved for later days.

Alizayd led the Qaid and Dara deeper into the dungeons and to a large cell where three men were chained to the wall. All three of them stood alert, murmuring to each other quietly. They all seemed quite calm. Likely because they’d only been here for an hour.

One of them appeared to be very young. Seemingly not even a quarter century old. The other two looked older - perhaps closer to one hundred years of age. One with a greying beard and the other with a tidy mustache.

Alizayd cleared his throat and the men looked up, their expressions almost eager. 

“As requested,” the prince said with a faint gesture to the Afshin.

The three looked to Dara and were suddenly very alert.

“Five minutes,” the Qaid interjected firmly. 

He gave Dara a pointed nod which the Afshin returned before approaching the barred cell.

An old part of Dara slowly rose to the surface. A soldier, a warrior, that had taken prisoners. One that had acted with a militant form of detached cruelty. Not expressed in violence so much as words. Or lack thereof. 

“You failed,” Dara said, examining his knuckles. “I would say it was a good attempt but it was uninspired.”

“Fuck you,” the younger Daeva boy snarled.

Dara laughed quietly, casting a taunting grin at him. “Do you think yourself brave, boy?”

“You don’t speak to him,” the bearded man growled.

“Oh, I see,” Dara said sagely. “You consider yourself the leader.”

The man spat at Dara’s boots. The corner of Dara’s lip quirked up, though he felt no amusement. “You missed.”

“Fuck you, traitor,” he said. “Who are you to say that we failed anyway?” 

Dara’s voice was cool. “The man you tried to kill.”

“There’s no killing you. We know that,” the man with the mustache said. “But we wanted to send you a message all the same.”

“And what message is that?” asked Dara in a curious voice.

“You are no Daeva. You cannot live among our tribe,” the boy sneered. “You were supposed to be the best of us. Yet you spit on your legacy.”

Dara’s temper flared again. “And what do you know of my legacy? What good did it do?” He clenched his teeth biting back a more seething remark. Dara would not give them the satisfaction of seeing him unravel. “You live under occupation. The Afshin name is gone. You are  _ hated  _ by the people of this city for the legacy you hold so high.”

“You used to stand for something, Darayavahoush,” the bearded man glared. “You could have helped us take this city back. Instead you’re encouraging our people to rebuke our principles. You’re manipulating our young. You’re marrying a shafit whore.”

“You call your king a liar?” Ali interrupted.

Dara rolled his eyes at the prince’s outburst. These men were not loyal to the crown. They were not loyal to their people. They were only loyal to their misguided beliefs. And if their belief in Dara’s treachery could be sustained by denying the king’s rumors of a “marid curse” to call Nahri a shafit then they would leap at that opportunity.

“We believed in you, Afshin,” the man with the mustache said somberly.

Dara shook his head with a mirthless laugh. “You never believed in me. If you did you would have listened to me.”

The boy leered. “I hope you and your shafit whore burn.”

Dara chuckled. “Do you three consider yourselves to be warriors then? Did you think your attack would be rewarded with Afshin marks from me? Did you think you would make me see reason?”

“We wanted to show you that you are no longer a hero of the Daeva,” the bearded man said austerely. 

“And you are?”

The man raised his chin a fraction and Dara snorted. “Heroes do not lose.”

“ _ You _ did,” the mustached man commented.

Dara felt a pang of both anger and regret. “I do not think myself a hero.” A pause as Dara once again examined his fingers. “I look forward to seeing your heads roll. All of you are a disgrace,” Dara said in a voice so casual he saw the young man shiver. 

Wajed stepped forward. “Are you done?” 

Dara tilted his head to the side then snapped his fingers. The bearded man’s leg snapped with a sickening crack, sending him to his knees. 

The Qaid bristled. “Afshin-“

“I’m done,” Dara shrugged indifferently and turned away from the cell.

As Alizayd, Dara and Wajed left the scene the bearded man’s wails of agony followed them. 

The boy cried out in a strangled voice. “ _ You’re _ the disgrace, Darayavahoush!”

Dara didn’t even look back, only sighed resignedly. “I know.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapters will be close in time range


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dara and Ali discuss their similarities and acknowledge the progress that’s been made

The trial had indeed concluded in a sentence of execution from Ghassan. Dara had been ordered to attend.

Seeing the three punished for their crimes was not nearly as satisfying as Dara had hoped. It rather made him sick. The boy who had called him a disgrace had wept and whimpered. The man with the beard had cried out for his mother. The other man with the tidy mustache had said nothing at all. The heads falling to the ground, the blood spilling on the dais, none of it had eased Dara’s conscience. None of it felt as though a debt had been repaid to him or the victims of the attack.

Dara had been in the sparring chamber for hours now. It was mercifully empty. He still had time before Nahri was finished in the infirmary which meant he needed to occupy his mind until he could speak to her.

She had been at the execution as well. She’d looked away after the blood was spilled, hissing under her breath reflexively. No doubt she would need a listening ear as well.

Dara hung the satchel of throwing knives back up on the board of sparring weapons. It seemed no amount of bulls eyes could ease the trembling in his arms. It did not release the bottled up emotions Dara couldn’t seem to express. He felt, for lack of a better word, stuck.

All he could do was replay their words in his head.

_ “We believed in you, Afshin.” _

_ “You’re the disgrace, Darayavahoush!” _

_ “...you spit on your legacy!” _

Wringing his hands, Dara headed to exit the sparring chamber with no particular destination in mind. 

The three men were monsters but they spoke the truth. A truth that haunted him.

What had Dara expected?

He’d forsaken the Scourge to future members of the Daeva Brigade. He’d purchased wares from a Geziri merchant. He’d protected the Qahtani royals. He was marrying a woman rumored to be a shafit. A Nahid nonetheless. He was a bad Afshin. 

Did he think he could return to Daevabad, a shadow of his former self and receive a warm welcome? His past was too bloody. His crimes were too great. He had committed atrocities too extreme for him to ever exist party-line in a city so fraught with division.

Dara waved a hand at the chamber doors. They swung open to reveal a very startled Alizayd.

Quite a change from how he’d appeared during the execution. Stony eyed with his lips in a flat line.

Dara sighed. He did not have the energy to converse with the arrogant sandfly prince. 

“That’s a clever way to get yourself killed, Little Zaydi. Sneaking up on an Afshin.”

“I wasn’t sneaking,” the prince said with a scowl.

He stepped past Dara and into the sparring room, a hand resting atop the hilt of the zulfiqar on his hip. The Afshin nearly snorted at his caution, then again he had broken the boy’s wrist. He grinned to himself, amused at the memory. It seemed like so long ago.

The Afshin arched a brow. “Were you hoping to spar with someone, Prince?”

“I do not think it wise to spar with you again, Afshin,” Alizayd said evenly.

“Suit yourself,” shrugged Dara.

Before the doors could close behind the Afshin, Alizayd stopped him, his voice hesitant. “That day when we sparred… You were warning me, weren’t you?” 

Dara’s brows furrowed as he tried to recall the entirety of the conversation. Truthfully he hadn’t set out to do anything but gain information that day, so the specifics of what had been said were slightly foggy. In the end, more words had only been exchanged as a result of the prince’s fiery temper.

Ali seemed to have no trouble recalling all of them.

“You said that you were also once a young warrior from a ruling tribe, that it gave you unwavering belief in your own faith and the rightness of your people. You said to enjoy it and you said you prayed I was never asked to do the things you did.”

The Afshin scoffed at the boy, shaking his head as he turned to face him again. “You are far too serious for someone your age,” Dara murmured. “What did you think I was doing? Threatening you?” Ali looked slightly taken aback and Dara relented, chuckling. “Well, yes, I was also threatening you. But you’re correct. I meant it by way of a warning.”

Ali’s expression was unreadable, but in those grey eyes Dara could see he was trying to make sense of something. It was almost as though he was trying to solve a particularly difficult puzzle. Dara nearly yawned at the sight, but refrained, instead clearing his throat. 

“What brought on this revelation, Zaydi?”

“Don’t call me that,” he snapped. The angry crease between his brows softened. He met Dara’s eyes with a measured gaze. “You said to the men that you were not a hero.”

The anger Dara had been suppressing boiled and boiled and then stopped. He clenched a fist and released a slow breath. 

“Prince Alizayd, you trouble me.  _ Greatly. _ ”

“ _ I  _ trouble  _ you? _ ”

“Has anyone ever called you wrong? Has anyone ever questioned your beliefs? Your convictions?”

Ali looked slightly abashed. “On more than a few occasions.”

“And has it made you question yourself? Your opinions, perhaps?”

Fierceness flashed in the prince’s eyes. Dara responded by cocking his head to the side. He was genuinely curious. So curious that he stepped right back into the chamber, letting the doors close behind him. For a moment, alarm flickered on Ali’s face, but he quickly composed himself. Dara folded his arms, shrugging and prompting the prince to continue.

“I don’t know,” the prince admitted. “I suppose so.”

Dara nodded. “This eases my mind. But you still concern me.”

“And why is that?”

“I’ve told you before, Zay-Alizayd. You remind me of myself.”

Ali opened his mouth to protest, but Dara cut him off starting to circle him. How he  _ did _ enjoy unnerving the prince. “As I said, you’re a young warrior from a leading tribe. You’re reassured in all your faith that you’re doing the right thing.” Ali’s eyes followed Dara as he continued circling him. “You’ve even got the backing of royalty that I had and you’re very determined. You’re deadly and have been raised from birth to be. Tell me, do you ever - even subconsciously - consider yourself the defender of your people, of your ideals?”

Ali swallowed and after a moment, when Dara had arrived in front of him once again, did he nod.

In that moment, Dara found the Qahtani more tolerable than ever before. And in spite of himself, he smiled wryly.

“If I can offer you any advice, that I am highly certain you will not value given… your obvious and well deserved distaste for me,” Dara snorted. “It is to remind yourself that it is easier to be a weapon than a person with their own ideas and agendas. It is far more simple to accept orders than to question them. Do not lose sight of your conscience, prince.”

Ali tilted his head to the side this time, brows drawing together in what appeared to be confusion.

“Are you saying that as the Scourge, you sometimes doubted your leaders? You doubted their orders, your beliefs?”

Dara answered without pause. “Indoctrination is a powerful thing, but there is always a choice. Does that answer your question?”

Ali nodded yet again. The boy seemed to have difficulty finding the words. Dara could sympathize. He looked away, exhaling once more before bringing himself to lock eyes with the prince. This time, when he saw Ali was finally on the verge of a sentence, he gestured for him to continue.

The prince raised his chin a fraction. “What do you think of the shafit now?”

Dara barked a laugh. “Draw your own conclusions, Alizayd. I am engaged to a woman who may very well be one. I delivered her to you safely despite being assured of her blood when I found her. And do not pretend you haven’t heard what I said to the Daeva Brigade recruits.” Dara twisted his ring on his finger. “I have prejudices to unlearn. I stand by what I said, indoctrination is a powerful thing. But… I am… I am  _ trying. _ I have… reservations about humans. I am quick to judge anyone not belonging to my tribe, but I am the Scourge no longer.”

Alizayd looked skeptical. 

Dara lifted his shoulders. “I will never be seen as anything else. Not by anyone but Nahri or the Creator himself. I can bear that. It is what I deserve. But this will not stop me from making amends.”

The prince was silent. 

Dara chuckled. “I never imagined I would be laying my soul bear to a Geziri but I suppose that this is not the last unlikely thing I shall do.”

“I see you for what you are. I agree you do not deserve the forgiveness you obviously crave, Afshin. You will forever be a monster to me and nothing more.”

“But of course,” Dara grinned.

Ali bit his lip and cast a wary glance to no one in particular. “But consider your advice heeded.”

Dara could hardly believe his ears. He felt a slight wave of relief. There was nothing more to be said, that was clear. And hell would sooner freeze than Dara admit to being pleased with a Qahtani.

But Alizayd had come to face the truth. Dara had slit his wrists and shown his blood to his enemy. 

It was the largest breach of division that Daevabad had ever seen. 

And tragically, no one would know.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A shorter chapter but honestly, this much needed closure discussing the parallels between Dara and Ali is content that makes up for word count in my opinion


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dara has trouble sleeping

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just some softness after the heavy of the past few chapters

Dara had now resided at the palace for a full week and he felt as though he were incapable of sleeping without placing a heavy security curse on his door or having one eye open.

He paced the room. It was apparent he wouldn’t be sleeping tonight but Creator, how he needed to occupy his racing mind.

The Afshin could spar with himself perhaps. Maybe spend a few hours at the shooting range. Either way, he couldn’t stay here. He felt like a caged lion.

He was surrounded by enemies. People he didn’t trust. The only small comfort he could offer himself was that Nahri was close by and should trouble arise he could be at her side in moments.

Nahri. They’d had supper together this evening but he craved her company again. Just seeing her in the flesh would be reassuring, but hearing her voice would be on another plain of relief.

Dara felt temptation rising to the surface. He had to see her. Surely, she wouldn’t mind. But it was so difficult to overcome the mindset of how inappropriate this action would be. No matter how fulfilling.

Perhaps he could simply play the conversation with Nahri in his mind. Like he did with imaginary Tamima sometimes. But his ears itched to hear her voice in person. His eyes sought to take in her every expression. His hands twitched hoping to feel her delicate fingers intertwine with his.

Damn it all. The effect she had on him… He was powerless. He must see her. 

As Dara walked through the moonlit palace corridors he found himself abnormally self conscious. He clasped his hands behind his back trying to imagine what he would say by way of an excuse when or if he collided with a Royal guard on patrol. 

_ Hello, I find myself unable to rest as my own tribe launched an attack on me and am hoping to steal a few moments with my betrothed in the dead of night. Keep this to yourself, won’t you? _

Ridiculous. They wouldn’t cross paths. And if they did it was unlikely they’d regard him with anything but a frown or cold stare. After all, the Royal guard was tasked with discretion among protection. How many liaisons and secret meetings had he stumbled upon as Afshin? He’d dutifully dismissed them as innocent or necessary. As a Royal protector it was your job to see nobility was safe from both weapons and whispers.

When Dara arrived at Nahri’s apartments, he raised a fist to knock on the door. 

What would he say? 

Creator, he should’ve been planning what he would say to her and not his excuse for some hypothetical, insignificant guard on the way over. Now here he was, unprepared and clueless. As usual around Nahri.

He leaned in the doorway, propping an arm above him as he tried to figure out what to say. 

_ Apologies for waking you before a doubtlessly busy day in the infirmary, but I find myself unable to sleep and am unreasonably in desire of your company. _

Dara was selfish. Yes, she was his fiancée but she was also  _ the  _ Banu Nahida. She was their city’s most valuable healer and he wished to disturb her resting hours with his silly concerns.

_ Fool. _

Dara sighed, running a hand through his hair…

When the door opened.

He looked up, fingers still threaded in his hair to see a very awake but delightfully disheveled Nahri standing before him. She wrapped her dressing gown tighter around herself and grinned at him.

“Are you… guarding my room?” 

The amusement in her voice made him smile, chuckling quietly. He felt his cheeks warm. 

“Would that your protection be the reason for my presence, little thief.”

Her head tilted to the side, brows drawing together curiously. “Are you alright?”

“Well, yes.”

She stepped past him, shutting the door to her quarters. Dara stood up straighter, reflexively assuming the stance of a guard with his hands clasped behind his back. 

She folded her arms across her chest, tucking her chin. “You just can’t sleep?”

The corner of Dara’s lip tilted up, he felt the sensation of a heavy weight lifting from his chest. “Precisely.”

“Are you hungry? Thirsty?” 

Dara blinked, surprised by the question. “Well, no.”

“Me either,” Nahri shrugged, sweeping past him again. “Come with me to the kitchens.”

She continued down the corridor, not even bothering to wait for Dara to accompany her. Rousing himself from his confusion induced stupor, he moved with lengthened strides, attempting to catch up. 

Nahri moved with such self assured grace that Dara felt struck. In this moment she seemed every bit a Nahid, roaming the palace halls that were her birthright.

“Do you visit the kitchens unaccompanied in the dead of night often?” Dara asked, eyes trained straight ahead.

He heard Nahri laugh softly at his side. “Sometimes. I couldn’t exactly go to the Daeva quarter to fetch you for protection though, now could I?”

“Fair.” 

He glanced at Nahri out of the corner of his eye to find that she was smiling. Not at him, not at anything in particular, but regardless Dara found he was smiling as well. There was a sense of warmth now that had been lacking before. A hole in his chest filled. He suddenly had an overwhelming and profound urge to say something kind to Nahri, to do something nice for her. To express his appreciation for her company in some way.

Instead he said: “I could conjure you food.”

“Tempting. But I am not in the mood for hot soup or stale manna…”

“You will never forgive me for the manna.”

“Never,” she winked at him, rounding a corridor and starting down the winding stone steps that led to the kitchen. “No, I’m in the mood for whatever was left over from dessert tonight.” 

Dara pursed his lips at the reminder of the dinner he had missed this evening. While Dara had enjoyed a majority of his meals in Nahri’s company, there was a Royal dinner once a week she was expected to attend. Dara’s presence wasn’t required but it was no secret that Nahri would appreciate his company. Royal dinners were apparently very awkward affairs, not to mention exceedingly dull. At least that was his understanding from his first and only Royal dinner.

In the kitchens on one of the many preparation tables sat platters of untouched food and desserts. Nahri made her way in the dimly lit room to one decorated with an assortment of cakes and puddings, hoisting herself to sit atop the table.

“You should make us some tea.” She gestured towards a small cart stocked with herbs, cups, pots and water.

Dara dutifully followed her instructions and set to making the tea he recognized to be her favorite. He poured water from a large pitcher into a pot, lighting a fire in his palm to warm it.

He glanced over at Nahri who was methodically eating a saffron cake. Even with her hair a bushy mess of curls and in her night clothes she was beautiful. She reminded him of a tapestry with the way her feet dangled from her seat atop the table, and the slight arch of her back. 

When he heard the soft noise of bubbling water he collected two cups and joined her at the table, pouring them each a plentiful amount of tea.

“Why couldn’t you sleep?” she asked.

Dara shrugged his shoulders. “Staying beneath the same roof as my ancestral enemies has me on edge.” His eyes were downcast as his stomach sank slightly. “But I suppose nowhere is really safe for me given that I was attacked by my own tribe.” Dara looked up from his tea to see Nahri wearing a frown. He waved an errant hand. “But if centuries have taught me anything it is that everything comes to pass with time… why couldn’t you sleep?”

Nahri sighed, rolling her eyes. “I have a particularly difficult patient tomorrow.”

“Difficult how?”

“Difficult as in her hands are now flowers and Nisreen says if I don’t follow her instructions to the letter they may very well wilt.”

“What happens if flower hands wilt?”

Nahri snorted, a bitter sound. “Then I’ll have to keep trying to heal her until the hands grow back.”

He offered her a comforting smile. “I’m sure you’ll manage, Banu Nahida. It may take you a few tries.”

“Well, if my  _ years  _ of experience have taught me anything,” she said with a pointed look, “it’s that wealthy people are particularly impatient and I do not work well under pressure.”

Dara arched a skeptical brow. A conwoman who stole entire horses performed poorly under pressure? 

“Is it pressure that you do not work well under or your temper?”

Her cheeks flushed, she busied herself with the saffron cake again.

Dara shook his head, chuckling to himself. “Forgive me but it’s a bit hypocritical of Nahri e-Nahid to frown upon impatience.”

“My impatience is different. It’s born out of a bad temper. Theirs is born from entitlement,” she grumbled. “I’ve never asked but was your family wealthy?”

Dara laughed. “Are you saying that I am entitled, Banu Nahida?”

“No, no, no, that’s not why I asked,” Nahri scoffed. “You came from an important family. Importance and success usually goes hand in hand with wealth.” 

Dara shook his head taking a sip of the tea - it was tart and floral and he couldn’t say he favored it. “No, not really. We weren’t by any means impoverished though. The Nahids preferred to pay in blessings and other promises that sounded appealing to religious fanatics…”

“You were a family of religious fanatics?”

He gave her a knowing look. “I’ve been alive a long time and nothing justifies such atrocities we committed more than misplaced religious beliefs. A man who has been told that his God has named him a savior is dangerous.”

“Are you saying that you believed the Creator told you that you were a savior?”

“No.” Dara’s expression turned dour. “Perhaps I didn’t realize it at the time, but it was the Nahids I worshipped more than the Creator. They named me to be our people’s hope. They claimed it was indicated by the  _ divine. _ ”

“Liars,” Nahri grinned.

Dara laughed again, shaking his head. How easy it had become to divulge his past. It was hard imagining there was ever a time he  _ couldn’t  _ tell Nahri everything. She made it so easy. No judgment, no cold stare, just a willing ear.

“You should tell me what days you don’t have to train or be on duty.”

“Oh?”

“Yes, I’d like to ask Nisreen for those days off. So we can… be together,” she said, her voice hesitant. She took the last bite of her cake and lifted her shoulders limply. “I understand though if you need your space-“

Dara cut her off, eager to answer. “I would like that. Very much.”

Nahri beamed into her cup of tea, slowly the broad smile faded and became cautious. “I heard about your conversation with Ali.”

Dara released a disgruntled sigh. He had thought their talk had gone rather well for the enemies that they were.

“What have I done to offend your prince this time?”

Nahri arched a delicate brow. “He actually said that it was rather illuminating.”

“How magnanimous of him,” drawled the Afshin. He took a swig of his tea, still not able to appreciate the flavor. “He didn’t leave me much of a choice though. His approach was rather blunt.”

“It’s difficult to believe you’re the same man that I had to threaten with throwing myself to a pack of ghouls just to get your name.”

It was true. Dara had changed since their journey. Not only had communicating with Nahri become a habit, but his innermost thoughts, his feelings, his beliefs had become things he could share with most anyone. He supposed it was because each confession seemed to make him feel better. Much better than before, when he’d kept things stopped up inside of him. Starting with his proclamation to the Daeva recruits. 

Yes, it had ultimately led to the attack on his home and his current living situation, but still, he couldn’t bring himself to regret this newfound courage. It felt… right.

A moment of silence passed between them, both preoccupied with their drinks. Not looking at each other, but not looking at anything in particular. It was nice and for a moment, Dara couldn’t recall why he’d felt so uneasy earlier. 

Oh, yes. He was living with his enemies and could trust no one but Nahri.

“You look concerned again,” Nahri said quietly. “Anxious.”

Dara exhaled. “Yes, I’m still rather alarmed that I’m in the care of the tribe I rebelled against.”

“Well, you said it yourself when you brought me here, these aren’t  _ really  _ the people you went to war with.”

_ Still… _

“You should try looking at the bright side. You’re closer to me now. We can see each other more.”

The corner of Dara’s lip hitched up. “Yes, that is a benefit.”

“Maybe I can teach you to read after Ali’s done with our lessons,” Nahri offered. “And I want to do something about the palace gardens and the orange grove. Perhaps… we could work on that together.”

Dara felt his ears warm. Gardening and reading and enjoying each other’s company? Such simple pleasures just for him? 

“Maybe we could even try teaching me to ride again,” she murmured.

“Ya, Nahri, you don’t want that.”

“Maybe I’ll come to enjoy it.”

“Alright,” Dara said warily. “We shall see if we can make a rider out of you yet. You  _ are _ small enough.”

Nahri yawned grandly and set down her cup. “I’m tired.”

Dara gathered their dishes, setting them aside. “Shall I escort you back to your quarters.”

She nodded, but before she could slide off the table and onto the floor, Dara had already lifted her into his arms.

“What are you doing?” she asked, a smile in her voice.

“You said you were tired, my lady.”

“I am but my legs aren’t broken.”

“So fiercely independent,” he deadpanned. 

“I’ll have you know I’m asking out of consideration of your delicate sensibilities.”

Dara started up the steps. “My  _ what? _ ”

“You  _ know _ what. What is and isn’t proper for an engaged couple of nobility.”

“I think we’re far past propriety at this point, Banu Nahida,” he said, stifling a laugh. “Evading our escorts. Secret visits in the dead of night. Pre-marital relations-“

Nahri blanched. “ _ Relations.  _ Creator, you’re old.”

“As you love to remind me.”

“Perhaps don’t act so old and I won’t.”

Dara deposited Nahri back at her quarters, her eyelids drooping just slightly. “I’ll leave you to your sleep.”

“What about you? Will you be able to rest now?”

Dara found the answer came easily. “I believe I may be able to manage sleeping soon.” He pressed his lips to her knuckles. “Goodnight.”

Dara started back down the hallway towards his quarters when Nahri called out once more. He turned on his heel, eyebrows raised.

“It’s just a few more years here. After that, we’ll go anywhere we wish.”

A smile overtook his face. He offered a nod of acknowledgement and resumed course to his room, his cheeks flushing wildly.


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A friend is injured uncovering new secrets

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know it’s been forever, but we’re getting into the plot and I want to make sure that I think this through

“We will be too tired.”

“What?” Nahri snapped. 

“We’ll be far too tired after the wedding.”

“No one is too tired for sex. Take it back.”

“I will not,” Dara drawled. “I escorted many newly wed Nahids back to their chambers and those chambers were _silent_ that night.”

“I think you’re just old.”

Dara’s lips turned down at the corners in consideration. “Well spotted, but that doesn’t mean I’m wrong…”

Nahri shrugged in surrender and raised her cup of wine to Dara, legs folded beneath her on the cushion. “To a year of remaining engaged.”

Dara lifted his own cup and drank with her. She turned her gaze to the city. The palace terrace offered a beautiful view of Daevabad, only enhanced by the setting sun. Also enhanced by her, in Dara’s opinion. He thought of mentioning this - one of his more blatant romantic gestures - but something about her toast stuck out to him.

“ _Remaining_ engaged?” Dara asked, raising a brow. “Had you considered calling it off?”

“ _Me?”_ Nahri guffawed. “I’m talking about you.”

Dara couldn’t help the completely nonplussed expression that painted his face. “Come again?”

“Oh, please.” She took another swig of her wine, a playful smile on her lips. “You’re the one who almost didn’t accept the proposal. You’re the one who constantly questions if you’re deserving. You’re the one who stares off silently with a brooding look. If either of us were going to call this off, it’d be you. _Not_ me.”

She had a point, he had to admit. Still, he couldn’t fathom rejecting her at this stage. Their threads were too tightly woven now. She had made him realize everything he was missing. Dara was too selfish to let go now. The thought made him frown.

But then he met her eyes and saw the way they were crinkled in a smile. A smile for him. She needed him just as badly as he needed her. She wanted him around. 

“I hope you can sustain your will power for another four years,” Nahri said, arching a brow.

Dara took her free hand in his, his thumb running over the top of her knuckles. “I made a promise to you, Banu Nahida. I do not intend to break it.” He saw a blush paint her cheeks, despite the pursing of her lips. “Not ever.”

His evenings with her always passed too quickly. Getting lost in conversation or sometimes silence. Him allowing their hands to touch whenever they were together. Occasionally stealing a kiss when their audience was few. The scowls of the Daeva meant very little as they began to decline in amount. 

After a year it had become very apparent to them that Dara would not be swayed. That he would forever frown upon the Nahids he had served. That he would continue to work towards his internalized prejudices and that in spite of the possibility that Nahri could be shafit and Ghassan was lying about a marid curse, he showed no signs of wanting to leave her. Much had changed about Darayavahoush e-Afshin but what remained was his steadfastness. That when his mind was made up, he was an immovable object only to be persuaded by himself.

“It’s getting late,” Nahri yawned. “We should head to your quarters.”

Yes, he still hadn’t found lodging outside the palace - or rather he refused to look. He couldn’t risk the safety of his neighbors or people again simply because he disliked living among Qahtanis.

Dara smirked at Nahri. “I will return you to your apartments, then retreat to my quarters.” He leaned in, pressing a tender kiss to her lips. “Much has changed in regard to my respect for propriety, but not sneaking you into my quarters.”

“Ah, yes, we must maintain the illusion that I am a chaste Nahid,” Nahri said. She dramatically fell against his chest, her legs sprawled on the cushions. “What if someone discovered that my betrothed had stolen my virtue? The scandal!”

Dara snorted, playfully pushing her away with a groan. Nahid giggled - no doubt a side effect of the wine - and shifted to sit on her knees. When he next met her eyes she was pouting.

“Two evenings a week with you are not enough, Afshin.”

He smiled sheepishly. “I know, but being an Officer in the Daeva Brigade doesn’t really provide me with a schedule of my choosing.” He cupped her chin in his hand. “But when we marry, I’ll be a nobleman. That means much less work in exchange for the occasional visit to the Grand Temple.”

“Ugh,” Nahri groaned. “So in four years we’ll have more time together?”

“And centuries after that, Banu Nahida. You’re a Nahid after all.”

“And what of when I _look_ centuries old, Darayavahoush? Will you… still want me then? While you’re frozen in time? Always strikingly handsome,” Nahri asked, her voice timid. “And eventually I’ll die. You’ll remain. You’ll… you’ll be a widower.”

Dara felt his stomach lurch and his brows knit together in concern. This was a sudden shift in mood. His hand moved from her chin to cup her cheek. His eyes grew soft as a frown threatened to break on his lips.

When Dara spoke it was with fierce conviction. “I entered this agreement knowing very well what I was getting into. Do you really think me so shallow as to lose my love for you as you grow old and grey?” The corner of his lip hitched up. “And by the way, I knew many Nahids. Even if you aren’t Daeva and are shafit you will age slowly. It’s quite easy when you can effortlessly repair your body as it withers.”

He saw Nahri swallow hard, the lines on her forehead smoothed.

“Nahri, we have more time together than you realize. Any measure of it I am glad to have, regardless of.” He inclined his neck allowing their foreheads to touch. “And you are right… one day you will make a widower of me. But I shall never love another as I have loved you. I will one day - though I am not sure when or how - join you and my sister in paradise. Our future is eternal, Banu Nahida. More so than you currently comprehend. Over time, I will assure you of that.”

Dara slept lightly and sometimes he did not sleep at all. He didn’t require much rest to get by so most nights he laid in bed staring at the ceiling of his quarters and letting his thoughts eat him alive. 

So when there was a loud banging followed by the shouting voice of his fiancée, he leapt from the bed in seconds.

Yanking on his jacket, Dara pulled the door open, his bow materializing in his hand.

Outside his door stood two members of Royal Guards, a member of the Daeva Brigade Dara recognized as Vijen and at the front, Nahri. Her eyes were wide and he could see her struggling to maintain composure.

He stepped forward, hand cupping her shoulder. “Nahri? What’s wrong?”

“It’s Jamshid,” she said, her voice quaking with uncertainty. 

Vijen leaned forward, brows furrowed. “There was an attack in the Tukharistani Quarter during his patrol. He was shot… protecting the emir.”

_The moronic sand-fly prince…_

Dara had cautioned Muntadhir multiple times against midnight outings. He’d warned Jamshid too. Neither of them were aware that Dara knew the intimacies of their relationship. Perhaps if they had been aware they would’ve taken his warnings more to heart. He understood their secrecy was imperative and that the precautions they took were more dangerous than that of a personal guard ensuring the safety of his prince. Jamshid likely never took the backup that would’ve been standard making them more vulnerable to attacks.

“Officer Afshin, we need someone to take the emir back to his quarters. He won’t leave the Captain. We thought perhaps… you could convince him.”

Dara let out a disgruntled grumble and stepped out into the corridor with a nod. He shut the door behind him and let the group begin guiding him to the infirmary. Dara took Nahri’s trembling arm. “I don’t understand why the Banu Nahida is needed at this hour when Nisreen is capable of-“

“Nisreen sent for me,” Nahri interrupted. She looked at Dara fiercely. “And I’m glad she did.”

Dara only nodded. If there was one thing he knew about Nahri it was that there was no deterring her from something she was determined about. 

They walked the moonlit corridors with haste. Dara held Nahri’s arm the entire way. She was practically on the cusp of sprinting. 

When they entered the infirmary, Kaveh was speaking in hushed voices with Nisreen at a table decorated with healing tools. Jamshid was on a cot near the far end of the room, Muntadhir hunched on a stool at his bedside. Wordlessly Nahri released Dara’s arm, almost jogging to Nisreen. The Afshin proceeded to Jamshid’s bedside where he lay unconscious, his chest wrapped in white gauze. There were multiple scattered splotches of blood.

Without thinking, Dara spoke. “How many times was he shot?”

“Four,” Muntadhir answered hoarsely. “One was meant for him, the other three for me.”

The emir’s eyes that normally sparkled with mischief were blank. Jamshid’s chest shuddered and Dara winced. There was the faint spotting of blood on his lips.

Dara tore his eyes from the sight. He was not here to examine the Captain. He was here to take Muntadhir back to his quarters and hopefully avoid any scandal. People were aware of the emir’s friendship with Jamshid, but that didn’t mean whispers wouldn’t spark at the mention of him teary-eyed at his bedside.

“Emir, I’ve been brought here to retrieve you and escort you back to your quarters.”

“I’m fine here,” Muntadhir said numbly.

Dara clenched his jaw, eyes sweeping over the guards surrounding them. “And I’m glad to hear that. If you’ll come with me-“

“I said I’m fine here.”

“It’s not a request,” Dara said, his voice stern.

Muntadhir’s head whipped in Dara’s direction. “You dare speak to me that way?”

Dara opened his mouth to snap back at the entitled sandfly when Kaveh shouted something at Nisreen. Everyone’s attention was drawn to the two, Nahri stood a few paces away, mixing remedies at a table - her expression nonplussed.

Dara turned back to Muntadhir. One problem at a time.

“Your guard is in good hands,” Dara said through gritted teeth. 

Suspicion was mounting by the second and unless Muntadhir wanted to lose Jamshid as his guard and get the boy banished from Daevabad he needed to leave. Why Dara cared so much was beyond him. Perhaps it was more out of concern for Jamshid that Muntadhir.

“Afshin, fuck you.”

Dara scowled as he felt the shocked glances of the guards surrounding them. He bent, hooking his arm under Muntadhir’s shoulder and hauling him to his feet. Muntadhir snarled something unintelligible as Dara began to drag him towards the exit. The Royal Guards seemed to contemplate taking action, but after a year of Muntadhir and Dara being alone multiple times a trust had developed that the Afshin would not harm the emir. In fact, he was known to be the only one who would not be persuaded or intimidated by Muntadhir.

Likely one of the reasons the guards had sent for him for this particular task.

Dara waved his free hand, the infirmary doors swung open and as soon as he and the emir had exited they slammed shut. 

“I’ll see you dead, Afshin!” Muntadhir bellowed.

Dara released his hold then gripped Muntadhir’s shoulder, slamming him against a corridor wall. The emir fought against Dara’s hold, uselessly.

“Muntadhir,” Dara said, his voice low with warning. “Unless you want everyone in Daevabad aware of you and your body-guard’s relationship you’ll listen to me and return to your lavish apartments.”

Muntadhir froze, his face drained of color. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Would you please save it,” Dara snapped. “Your consort is in the capable hands of the Banu Nahida and if you remain you will seem overly concerned. Do you want to risk losing Pramukh? Because you know what your religion says of this relationship. You know what your people would think.”

Muntadhir’s expression crumpled. Dara averted his eyes, stepping away. It was clear that the emir wasn’t going back into the infirmary. Not yet at least. 

“How long have you known?” Muntadhir asked, running a hand down his face. “And what will it take to keep you silent?”

Dara snorted. “Oh, please. Am I really such a villain? After everything?”

Muntadhir gave the Afshin a pointed look. Dara relented, flinching. 

“Fair enough,” Dara sighed. “I’ve known for months, emir. I’ve got no reason to divulge this information and there’s nothing you have that I want.”

Muntadhir raised his chin a fraction, his eyes combed Dara suspiciously. “You could possibly see me lose the throne for this… your Banu Nahida could be one step closer to being Queen…”

“My Banu Nahida has no desire to rule and neither do I,” Dara groused. “And even if you were unseated the religious fanatic brother of yours would be next in line. I’d rather you next for the throne than Little Zaydi.”

“You’ll really say nothing?”

Growing more irritated by the second, Dara groaned. “If I was going to say something, I would’ve by now.”

Muntadhir was sobered by this. He wiped away a stray tear with the back of his hand. Dara tried to look away, he knew the emir likely wouldn’t be fond of the idea of being seen so vulnerable.

“None of that matters right now, Muntadhir.” Dara realized then he’d never referred to the prince this informally so frequently before. “What matters is that we get you back to your quarters where you can drink yourself to sleep and awake tomorrow to check on Jamshid.”

Muntadhir was silent, his gaze falling on the infirmary doors briefly. “And if there is no Jamshid to check on in the morning?”

“There will be, emir. The Banu Nahida will see him healed. And I’ve seen many men riddled with arrows. If he were going to perish from these wounds he would have already.” The emir eyed Dara skeptically and the Afshin felt a strange tug at his chest. “I swear to you. I have no reason to lie.”

The emir exhaled, nodding. “You are certain he will survive the night.”

“I am positive he will.” Dara tilted his head studying the distraught expression on Muntadhir’s normally handsome face. He knew he would regret his next offer. “Em-Muntadhir… let’s go to your apartments. I will share a drink with you.”

Muntadhir laughed tearfully. “Just like old times? When we hunted the ifrit?”

“ _I_ hunted the ifrit and you accompanied me with your men,” Dara amended. He gave the emir a gentle shove down the corridor. “Move. The quicker we get you drunk, the sooner you stop reminiscing.” 

The sun was just rising when Dara opened his eyes. Muntadhir was sprawled out on his bed, passed out in a wine induced slumber. Dara had fallen asleep, slumped against a wall, his head swimming in date wine while Muntadhir slurred poetry into the wee hours of the morning before collapsing against his pillows.

Dara rubbed his eyes, sobering himself and stood, unsteadily, to his feet. For a moment, it felt like the world tilted but then it was over and the room righted itself.

A benefit of not being alive was having no hangover.

As quietly as he could manage, Dara started for the exit of the emir’s apartments, then slipped outside. Dara slowly and silently shut the door behind him, when he turned around Nahri was standing inches away. He nearly jumped.

“Creator, I was going to come for you in the infirmary…” he muttered. “The emir is still resting. I’ll likely have to fill in for Captain Pramukh until he’s healed.”

It wasn’t until that moment that Dara noted the detached look in Nahri’s eyes. How long had she been out here? Why did she seem so… vacant? Surely Jamshid had pulled through.

“I told him he could visit Jamshid when he woke. What state can he expect to find the Captain in?”

Nahri’s brows drew together and Dara felt his stomach plummet. Had Jamshid truly passed in the night? Reading the panic on his face, Nahri shook her head, banishing the thought from his racing mind.

“Jamshid is fine, but something else happened.”

_Creator, he’ll never hold a bow again…_

Nahri stepped closer to Dara and lowered her voice more. “Nisreen and Kaveh kept arguing after you left. Eventually they went outside and left me to tend to Jamshid on my own. So, I removed his bandages to apply a healing ointment and stitch the wounds.”

Dara nodded, urging her to continue. 

She took a deep, shaky breath. “His bleeding had slowed, the wounds were clear and then I got to the one just under his arm and I saw this… this tattoo. It was a symbol I didn’t recognize.”

“What did it look like?”

Nahri blinked. “It was a seal of some sort… I couldn’t tell what exactly. The skin around it had been really mangled by the arrow when Jamshid had tried to rip it out. It was mangled that there was really no saving it. I made an incision and was going to stitch the skin back together with my magic. A clean fix.”

“But?”

“But,” Nahri said, exhaling. “Something strange happened to me as soon as I made my incision on the mark. It felt like something… went off?”

“Are you alright?” Dara asked.

She nodded. “That’s not the point. The point is when I removed the skin with the mark... he healed.” 

“You were able to heal him?”

“Dara, he healed _himself._ Like _me_ ,” Nahri whispered.

Dara’s eyes widened. What was this mark? This seal? Some form of spell or curse? Meant to disguise Jamshid’s true nature? Because if Nahri had seen what she thought she saw, that meant that Jamshid e-Pramukh was of the Nahid bloodline.

“A seal to conceal Jamshid’s relation to the Nahids makes sense…” Dara murmured. “I can’t imagine Ghassan would let the boy live if he knew. Likely Kaveh did it for Jamshid’s protection.”

“That would mean…” Nahri trailed off as though afraid to finish the sentence.

“It would mean you were related. Potentially brother and sister. Kaveh couldn’t be your father though, I can’t imagine him successfully hiding you and then keeping Jamshid around.” Dara’s eyes went wide. “What did Jamshid say? What did Kaveh do? Nisreen?”

“I gave Jamshid a heavy sleeping draught before he could notice. I re-bandaged his wounds and then went to your quarters. When you weren’t there, I figured you were here.” Nahri was struggling to keep her voice even. It was apparent she was confused. “What do we do?”

How the hell would Dara know? He just stood there before her, unblinking. Obviously, Ghassan couldn’t know, but it was an equally poor idea to go on pretending nothing happened. So the question was, who did they divulge this knowledge to? It wouldn’t stay - it _couldn’t_ stay - a secret for long. 

“We’ll speak with Kaveh to see what this is all about, then we go to Jamshid,” Dara finally determined.

“Then what?”

“We’ll have to decide on the information we are given.”

Nahri swallowed and inched closer to Dara. “I don’t know that we can tell the Qahtanis.”

Dara opened his mouth to agree when the door to Muntadhir’s apartment swung open. He turned to see the emir leaning in the doorway, his face shadowed in exhaustion and confusion.

The emir sighed. “I don’t think we can either.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It may be a bit till my next update because I want to approach this plot point with intention


End file.
